THE   LONELY    LADY 


OF 


GROSVENOR  SQUARE 


BY 

MRS.  HENRY  DE  LA  PASTURE 

AUTHOR  OF 

"PETER'S  MOTHER,"  "THE  MAN   FROM  AMERICA,' 
"A  TOY  TRAGEDY,"  Etc.,  Etc. 


Though  I  strive  anew 
Shadows  to  pursue, 
Shadows  vain, 
Thou  'It  remain 
Within  my  heart. 

John  Oxenford. 


NEW   YORK 
E.  P.  BUTTON  &  COMPANY 

31  WEST  TWENTY-THIRD  STREET 
1907 


COPYRIGHT 

E.  P.  DUTTON  &  Co. 

1906 


"Cbc  »micJ:erboc&er  prees,  *Aew  fiorit 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTRR  PAOB 

I. — THE  LONELY  LADY      .....         i 

II. — THE  PEDIGREE  .         .         .         .         .         .16 

III. — THE  MINIATURES         .....       34 

IV. — THE  FUNERAL    ......        56 

V.— THE  WILL 65 

VI. — THE  NURSERIES  .          .          .          .          .78 

VII.— THE  CALL 92 

VIII. — THE  CALLER       .          .         .          .          .          .112 

IX. — THE  MOUNTAIN  FARM  ....      136 

X. — CECILIA  .         .         .         .         .         .159 

XI. — THE  CONCERT    ......     182 

XII. — THE  PARTY  IN  THE  PICTURE  GALLERY  .     197 

XIII. — THE  LITTLE  DINNER     .  ...     209 

XIV. — THE  DUKE 229 

XV. — THE  BUSH  DESERT     .....     249 

XVI.— THE  DUCHESS 263 

XVII. — THE  TELEGRAM 286 

XVIII. — THE  LONELY  LADY  STILL  MORE  LONELY         .     302 
XIX. — THE  LAST  LETTER       .         .         .         .         ,     319 

XX. — LE  MARQUIS  DE  COURSET    ....     332 

XXI. — ANNE-MARIE      ......     346 

XXII. — MADAME  LA  MARQUISE         .          .          .         •     359 
XXIII. — THE  LONELY  LADY  LONELY  NO  MORE    .         .376 


ifl 


2229143 


The   Lonely   Lady 
Of  Grosvenor  Square 


CHAPTER  I 
THE  LONELY  LADY 

*'It  ?s  delightful  to  breathe  the  air, 
Breathed  by  people  in  Grosvenor  Square!" 

Popular  Song. 

DECEMBER  in  London,  1902.  Fog  had  prevailed 
throughout  the  early  part  of  the  day;  now  it  had 
lifted,  but  a  dismal  rain  was  falling  upon  the  coal- 
black  stems  of  the  lilac,  the  sooty  branches  of 
the  plane,  and  the  palings  which  divided  them 
from  the  muddy  pavement  and  muddier  street. 

A  benevolent,  bearded  policeman,  secure  in 
mackintosh  cape,  paced  slowly  and  solidly  past 
the  windows  of  99  Grosvenor  Square. 

Within,  a  lonely  lady  sat  at  luncheon. 

The  table  was  spread  with  massive  Georgian 
silver  and  Crown  Derby  china.  Forced  lilies  of 

i 


2  THE  LONELY  LADY 

the  valley,  red  roses  prematurely  called  into 
being,  and  clinging  garlands  of  smilax  curling 
in  and  out  of  the  dessert  dishes,  added  poetry  to 
the  prose  of  wealth's  display. 

The  servants  were  not  permitted  to  wait  at 
luncheon. 

The  lonely  lady  left  the  brown  chops  to  simmer 
over  a  plated  furnace  on  the  sideboard,  and  only 
looked  at  the  glazed  tongue  and  frilled  ham  re- 
posing on  beds  of  glittering  aspic  jelly. 

This  was  not  because  she  lacked  appetite, 
but  because  she  was  afraid  to  broach  them. 

She  helped  herself  timidly  to  boiled  sole  and 
mashed  potato.  She  ate  a  little  maraschino 
jelly  in  a  furtive  and  guilty  manner,  and  ended 
her  meal  by  taking  a  peach,  and  some  crumbs 
of  a  fine  old  Stilton  cheese,  in  the  wrong  order. 

She  drank  first  water,  stealthily  and  as  though 
she  were  doing  something  wrong;  and  then,  with 
frightened  gulps  of  triumph,  a  small  glass  of  light 
tawny  port. 

When  she  rose  from  the  table  she  rang  the  bell 
so  gently  that  the  responding  tinkle  must  have 
been  very  thin  and  uncertain;  and  she  walked 
across  the  big,  solemn  dining-room,  over  the 
parquet  floor  of  the  square  hall,  past  the  porter's 
empty  chair,  and  into  the  morning-room. 

Here  she  sat  down;  alone,  as  usual. 

The  room  was  decorated  in  strict  accord  with 
modern  taste  and  convention. 


OF  GROSVENOR  SQUARE  3 

The  ceiling  was  heavily  incrusted  with  white 
ornament,  like  unto  a  wedding  cake.  Panels  of 
green  brocade  bore  old  gilt  candelabra  on  the  walls. 
The  narrow  Adam's  mantelshelf  held  Louis  Seize 
candlesticks,  a  Dresden  clock,  and  Sevres  vases, 
beneath  the  life-size  Romney  portrait  which 
occupied  the  space  usually  assigned  to  a  mirror. 

The  fender  rose  in  wild  ornament  of  mimic 
flames  made  in  solid  gilt  metal,  around  the  white 
tiled  fireplace.  The  moss  green  carpet  bore 
heavy  impress  of  a  suite  of  Louis  Seize  furniture, 
gilt  and  brocaded. 

Hothouse  palms,  rose-wreathed  hangings,  and 
the  curved  legs  of  enamelled  tables  lent  graceful 
lines  to  pleasant  spaces.  Silver  vases  bore 
fragrant  burdens  of  curled  chrysanthemums, 
golden  and  bronze.  A  malachite  pillar  supported 
a  tree-fern,  and  masses  of  azalea,  pearl-petalled 
and  scarlet-stained,  bloomed  in  unnatural  pro- 
fusion in  a  shady  corner — so  quickly  drooping — 
so  easily  renewed ;  because  the  owner  of  the  house 
in  Grosvenor  Square  was  very  rich,  and  had  a 
great  love  for  flowers. 

The  lonely  lady  had  nothing  to  do  with  the 
decoration  of  the  room,  and  flowers  which  dis- 
dained times  and  seasons,  and  bloomed  for  gold 
alone,  bewildered  as  much  as  they  pleased  her. 

She  sat  on  the  sofa  and  looked  at  them;  rose 
and  walked  to  the  window  and  looked  at  the  rain 
and  the  promenading  policeman;  returned  to  the 


4  THE  LONELY  LADY 

sofa  and  looked  at  the  little  empty  idle  hands  in 
her  lap. 

She  would  gladly  have  taken  down  one  of  the 
volumes — bound  in  morocco  and  bright  with  gold 
tooling — from  the  shelves  behind  the  glass  doors 
of  the  Chippendale  bookcases,  which  lurked  in 
the  alcoves  on  either  side  of  the  fireplace, — but 
alas,  she  had  tried  the  doors,  and  found  them 
securely  locked. 

Upon  the  low  occasional  table  by  the  side  of  the 
rose-wreathed  couch  lay  a  copy  of  the  Book  of 
Beauty,  published  in  the  early  forties. 

It  opened  of  itself  at  a  steel  engraving  of  the 
portrait  of  Miss  Marney  of  Orsett,  and  represented 
a  young  lady  seated  upon  a  balcony  beside  a 
marble  pillar,  playing  the  harp. 

Miss  Marney  wore  a  flowing  muslin  gown 
looped  with  roses,  ringlets  depended  on  either 
side  of  a  handsome  face,  archly  smiling  over  a  bare 
shoulder;  her  gloves,  lace  handkerchief,  and  a 
stiff  little  bouquet  were  carefully  disposed  in  the 
foreground. 

The  lonely  lady  had  looked  at  the  picture  many 
times  already,  and  read  the  verses  facing  it, 
which  began : 

Fair  girl,  and  hast  thou  left  the  festive  scene, 

To  warble  as  a  nightingale  without 
The  noble  halls  of  thine  ancestral  home. 

Where  thou  art  queen  of  frolic,  dance,  and  rout  ? 

But   she   read   them   again   with    a   momentary 


OF  GROSVENOR  SQUARE  5 

renewal  of  interest,  before  she  put  the  book  back 
in  its  accustomed  place. 

The  crackling  of  the  fire  within  the  room,  and 
the  distant  clip-clop  and  jingle  of  hansoms  out- 
side, broke  the  silence ;  there  was  straw  laid  down 
in  the  street  beneath  the  windows,  because  the 
owner  of  the  house  was  ill. 

The  lonely  lady  looked  up  at  the  Romney 
portrait,  and  sighed  childishly. 

"I  wish  you  could  speak  to  me." 

Her  name  was  Jeanne-Marie-Charlotte  de  Cour- 
set;  but  the  gilt  plate  on  the  frame  of  the  Romney 
portrait  bore  the  name  of  her  English  great- 
grandfather, 

Lt.  Colonel  Harry  Marney,  R.E., 
of  Orsett  Hall,  near  Bath. 

Born  1771.     Died  1851. 

The  portrait  must  have  been  painted  when 
Harry  Marney  was  about  twenty  years  old.  He 
wore  a  grey  powdered  wig  ending  in  a  pigtail;  a 
red  coat  with  black  velvet  revers  and  gold  epau- 
lettes; a  waistcoat  and  knee  breeches  of  white 
satin,  and  a  snowy  neck-cloth. 

The  scene  represented  a  battle-field,  and  the 
young  face,  oval  and  delicate  as  a  woman's,  stood 
boldly  out  against  a  background  of  lowering 
clouds  and  grey  smoke. 

Straight  black  brows  met  above  dark  blue  eyes 
and  an  aquiline  nose ;  a  firmly  closed  mouth  with 
slightly  upturned  corners  gave  a  stern,  almost 


6  THE  LONELY  LADY 

satirical  expression  to  the  proud,  handsome  face. 

"  It  is  no  use  looking  so  brave  and  so  scornful," 
said  Jeanne,  "you  know  you  were  never  in  a 
battle  in  all  your  long  life." 

Then  she  relented  and  apologised. 

"But  I  daresay  you  would  have  been  if  you 
could,  for  you  are  very  like  Louis.  So  like  that 
it  almost  makes  me  cry  to  look  at  you,  great- 
grandpapa  Harry.  I  suppose  promotion  was  very 
quick  in  your  time  for  gentlemen  of  fortune, 
or  perhaps  the  inscription  was  put  a  long  time 
after  the  picture  was  painted.  Surely  you  could 
not  have  been  a  Colonel  at  that  age.  I  must 
ask  Aunt  Caroline." 

The  only  surviving  daughter  of  Colonel  Harry 
lay  upstairs  on  her  sick  bed.  She  was  now 
eighty  years  old,  as  the  original  of  the  portrait 
had  been  when  death  had  summoned  him  from  the 
hunting-field  to  take  his  place  in  the  family  vault. 

Jeanne  had  been  nearly  three  weeks  in  the 
house  of  her  great-aunt,  but  it  seemed  to  her 
almost  as  though  as  many  years  must  have  elapsed 
since  she  had  left  the  farm  on  the  borders  of 
Wales,  where  she  and  her  twin  brother  Louis  had 
been  brought  up. 

She  was  used  to  loneliness.  Coed-Ithel  lay 
among  the  mountains,  more  than  two  miles  from 
the  nearest  village,  and  the  roads  were  bad  and 
distances  great  for  travellers  to  town  and  market. 


OF  GROSVENOR  SQUARE  7 

The  homestead  belonged  to  her  bachelor  uncle, 
a  hard-working  farmer,  who  was  generally  out  of 
doors,  and  who  mostly  fell  asleep  if  forced,  from 
any  cause,  to  remain  within;  so  that  his  niece 
could  scarcely  look  to  him  for  companionship, 
even  if  he  had  been  as  congenial  to  her  as  he  was 
kind. 

She  had  not  seen  her  brother  Louis,  who  was 
now  in  South  Africa,  since  he  had  left  home  to 
join  his  regiment  in  India,  nearly  five  years  ago. 

Thus  she  had  grown  accustomed  to  a  certain 
solitude;  but  the  loneliness  of  the  hillside  is  not 
the  loneliness  of  a  large  house  in  the  midst  of  a 
crowd  of  strangers. 

A  restless  impatience  of  the  conditions  which 
surrounded  her  began  to  pervade  her  empty  days 
and  her  wakeful  nights. 

She  was  five  and  twenty  years  old,  but  in  con- 
sequence of  her  forlornness,  and  the  roundness 
of  her  little  face,  she  looked  much  younger.  Her 
sojourn  in  town  had  not  yet  succeeded  in  dim- 
ming the  beautiful  red  bloom  which  the  air  of 
her  native  mountains  had  lent  her  complexion. 
The  clear  blue  whites  of  her  soft  brown  eyes, 
fringed  with  long  black  lashes,  betrayed  the 
perfect  healthfulness  of  their  owner.  Dimples 
lurked  on  the  round  chin,  and  in  the  round 
young  cheeks;  but  there  was  no  smile  to  bring 
them  forth  from  their  hiding-places ;  the  corners 
of  the  pretty  mouth  drooped,  and  expressed  as 


8  THE  LONELY  LADY 

much  sadness  as  such  a  childish  face  could  hold. 

Jeanne  had  seen  her  aunt  but  once  during  the 
last  three  weeks.  Upon  the  day  of  her  arrival 
she  had  been  sent  for  to  Miss  Marney's  own 
apartment — to  which  that  lady  had  been  confined 
by  illness  for  some  time  past,  although  she  had 
not  then  yet  taken  to  her  bed. 

Her  first  view  of  Miss  Caroline  presented  to 
her  a  tall  and  dignified  figure,  erect  in  an  elbow 
chair,  and  clad  in  a  flowing  gown  of  grey  satin, 
with  flounces  of  Honiton  lace;  upon  which  couch 
of  luxury  her  favourite  dog,  a  little  Yorkshire 
terrier,  was  very  calmly  reposing. 

A  lace  cap,  with  pale  pink  velvet  bows,  crowned 
Miss  Caroline's  white  hair,  parted  above  black 
brows  which  met  across  a  hawk  nose,  and  blue 
eyes  still  piercing — still  blackly  fringed. 

Jeanne  had  trembled  not  a  little  before  this 
stately  apparition,  and  her  obvious  alarm  and  ad- 
miration had  impressed  her  grand-aunt  favourably. 

But  of  the  interview  she  had  but  a  vague  re- 
collection, for  between  terror  and  fatigue  she  could 
scarce  bring  herself  to  answer  the  few  formal 
questions  put  to  her  concerning  her  journey. 

Miss  Marney  would  hardly  have  permitted  an 
earthquake — far  less  the  arrival  of  a  humble 
stranger  niece — to  derange  one  of  the  established 
customs  of  her  regular  existence.  It  was  the 
hour  for  double-dummy,  and  Jeanne  was  therefore 


OF  GROSVENOR  SQUARE  9 

requested  to  establish  herself  in  an  arm-chair  in 
the  background,  and  given  a  prolonged  oppor- 
tunity for  recovering  her  composure,  during 
her  aunt's  nightly  recreation  of  card-playing. 

As  the  clock  struck  nine,  Mrs.  Pyke,  the  house- 
keeper, entered,  dressed  in  black  broch6,  which 
was  curiously  patterned  with  violet  flowers  in 
accordance  with  an  ancient  fashion ;  also  she  wore 
a  black  lace  cap  upon  her  head,  and  a  long  gold 
watch-chain  about  her  neck. 

The  maid,  Dunham,  had  already  set  forth  the 
card-table,  and  Mrs.  Pyke,  pausing  in  the  doorway 
to  make  a  curtsey,  glided  decorously  into  her 
place,  and  gathered  the  cards  into  slightly  palsied 
hands,  veiled  by  black  mittens. 

Pyke  had  entered  her  ninetieth  year,  but  it  had 
not  yet  occurred  to  her  that  she  was  too  old  to 
fulfil  her  duties. 

She  was  a  strangely  silent  person,  and  her 
length  of  service  did  not  inspire  her  to  abate  one 
iota  of  her  perpetual  awestruck  deference  to  her 
employer,  though  nothing  could  have  exceeded 
Miss  Marneys  graciousness  to  her  oldest  de- 
pendent. 

The  rubber  had  been  played  in  silence ;  Jeanne 
scarcely  daring  to  breathe.  She  noted  with 
wonder  and  delight  the  magnificence  of  her 
grand-aunt's  appearance,  and  the  stateliness  of 
her  bearing.  She  had  indeed  never  seen  any  one 
like  her;  every  time  Miss  Maraey  tossed  her  head, 


io  THE  LONELY  LADY 

and  this  was  a  favourite  gesture  oft  repeated, 
Jeanne  thrilled  responsively.  She  practised  the 
movement  afterwards  before  her  looking-glass 
in  private,  and  was  disgusted  at  her  own  inability 
to  produce  double  chins  in  rapid  succession. 

The  scene  interested  her  deeply:  the  card-table, 
lighted  with  green-shaded  candles,  struck  her  with 
pleasant  dismay. 

Her  Non -conformist  uncle  at  Coed-Ithel  called 
cards  the  devil's  books;  and  she  had  never  seen 
this  class  of  literature  before. 

She  felt  almost  as  guilty  as  though  she  were 
being  called  upon  to  assist  at  a  witch's  orgy, 
instead  of  an  old  lady's  innocent  rubber,  as  she 
watched  the  housekeeper's  shrivelled  black  figure, 
and  dim  spectacled  eyes,  peering  at  the  cards 
held  in  her  mittened  hands.  She  observed  with 
interest  the  small  sour  smile  on  Mrs.  Pyke's 
sunken  mouth  when  her  mistress  condescended 
to  put  an  ace  on  her  king,  and  heard  her  faint 
clack  of  apology  when  she  secured  the  odd 
trick  for  herself. 

Jeanne  wondered  why  both  the  old  servants 
affected  violet  as  their  only  decoration,  and  came 
to  the  conclusion  that  it  must  be  because  they 
thought  it  the  most  respectful  colour  for  servants 
to  wear,  next  to  unrelieved  black. 

Dunham,  another  silent  witness  of  the  game,  had 
been  interested  only  in  the  flush  on  Miss  Marney's 
face,  and  the  stertorous  difficult  breathing  which 


OF  GROSVENOR  SQUARE  n 

was  painfully  audible  in  the  heavily  curtained 
double-windowed  room. 

The  rubber  was  cut  short  by  some  astounding 
coups  and  a  timely  revoke,  on  the  part  of  Mrs. 
Pyke,  in  deference  to  private  signals  from  Dunham, 
who  was  seated  a  little  behind  her  mistress; 
when  it  was  over  another  time-honoured  cere- 
mony was  gone  through.  A  glass  of  madeira 
was  poured  out  very  solemnly,  and  presented 
to  the  aged  housekeeper,  as  a  recompense  and 
refreshment  after  her  labours. 

Pyke  received  this  mark  of  favour  with  peren- 
nial surprise  and  gratitude;  venturing  to  express 
a  humble  wish  for  Miss  Marney's  good  health 
before  she  swallowed  the  wine,  and  making  a 
second  curtsey  before  she  retired  finally  from  the 
apartment. 

Jeanne,  too,  had  been  dismissed — but  with  a 
gracious  smile,  an  intimation  that  she  should 
in  future  address  her  relative  as  Aunt  Caroline, 
rather  than  as  Aunt  Marney — and  a  promise 
that  an  early  interview  should  be  accorded  in 
the  morning. 

During  the  night,  however,  a  great  bustle  and 
commotion  arose  in  the  old  house,  of  which  little 
Jeanne,  sleeping  soundly  after  her  journey,  and 
forgotten  by  the  terrified  domestics,  knew  nothing. 

She  learnt  next  day  that  her  grand-aunt  was  very 
ill,  and  that  she  had  had  some  kind  of  a  stroke 
or  seizure.  Dunham  was  reticent  concerning 


12  THE  LONELY  LADY 

details,  but  she  explained  that  Jeanne  must  not 
go  to  Miss  Marney's  room  unless  she  was  sent 
for ;  and  Jeanne,  unaccustomed  to  independent  ac- 
tion of  any  kind  (for  she  had  been  always  sub- 
ject to  authority),  had  acquiesced  as  a  matter  of 
course. 

During  the  weeks  that  followed,  she  had 
moped  unquiet,  alone,  and  disconsolate;  poring 
over  the  newspapers  for  hours,  rather  in  hopes 
of  finding  her  brother's  name  in  the  South  African 
intelligence,  than  because  she  was  particularly 
interested  in  the  general  news  of  the  day;  afraid 
of  venturing  forth  alone  into  the  unfamiliar  streets ; 
choked  by  the  fog,  depressed  by  the  weather, 
and  hourly  expectant  of  the  summons  to  her 
aunt's  bedside. 

The  long  afternoon  wore  away,  and  at  half- 
past  four  the  tea  was  brought  in  by  Hewitt  the 
butler,  and  William  the  Irish  footman.  William 
was  still  a  footman,  though  forty  summers  had 
passed  lightly  over  his  carroty  head  and  freckled 
face;  for  his  twinkling  eyes,  snub  nose,  and  wide 
smiling  mouth  belied  all  his  efforts  to  emulate 
the  serious  dignity  of  his  superior,  and  debarred 
him  for  ever  from  rising  to  the  first  rank  in  his 
profession. 

A  little  animation  came  into  the  lonely  lady's 
woe-begone  face  when  the  servants  withdrew, 
leaving  her  respectfully  alone  to  enjoy  her  meal. 

She  enjoyed  it  less  because  she  was  hungry 


OF  GROSVENOR  SQUARE  13 

than  because  eating  and  drinking  gave  her 
something  to  do. 

To  farm-bred  Jeanne,  the  tea,  however  dainty, 
appeared  but  the  contemptible  shadow  of  her 
favourite  repast;  though,  since  she  had  taken  next 
to  no  exercise  for  some  days  past,  and  had  lunched 
but  two  hours  earlier,  a  less  healthy  appetite 
would  scarcely  have  needed  it  at  all. 

She  handled  the  heavy  Georgian  urn  nervously, 
made  the  tea,  and  poured  it  into  a  shallow  cup 
of  egg-shell  china.  She  spurned  the  London 
cream,  delicately  flavoured  with  boracic  acid, 
and  haughtily  left  one  of  the  four  minute  wafers 
which  did  duty  for  bread  and  butter  on  its  snowy 
folded  napkin,  lest  Hewitt  and  William  should  be 
led  to  suppose  her  accustomed  to  more  solid  fare. 

It  was  a  greater  effort  of  self-denial  to  spare  the 
third  sponge  cake. 

Miss  Marney's  still-room  maid  made  excellent 
sponge  cakes,  though  they  were  shaped  and  sized 
rather  to  suit  dolls  than  human  beings  with  a 
taste  for  sweet  things. 

Spin  it  out  as  she  would,  the  meal  was  over  in 
the  space  of  a  quarter  of  an  hour;  and  when  the 
door  opened  presently,  Jeanne  thought  the 
servants  had  come  to  clear  away  the  tea-things. 
She  did  not  turn  her  head  from  the  window,  still 
blurred  with  rain,  to  which  she  had  returned;  but 
stood  there,  looking  out  dismally,  at  the  rows  of 
twinkling  lights  in  perspective,  reflected  in  the  wet 


i4  THE  LONELY  LADY 

mud  of  the  street  until  they  were  lost  in  grey  mist 
and  smoke. 

The  sound  of  a  throat  cleared — respectfully  but 
unmistakably  in  readiness  for  speaking,  made  her 
start;  and  she  beheld  her  aunt's  maid  standing 
at  her  elbow. 

The  old-fashioned  waiting-woman — who  was 
scarce  ten  years  younger  than  her  mistress,  and 
had  tended  Miss  Marney  faithfully  for  upwards 
of  half  a  century — addressed  Jeanne  kindly  but 
stiffly,  and  somewhat  as  though  she  were  speaking 
to  a  very  little  child. 

"Your  auntie  is  asking  for  you,  Missy." 

"  For  me  ?  At  last.  Will  she  really  see  me  again  ? 
I  will  come  at  once,"  said  Jeanne,  very  joyfully. 

The  ennui  vanished,  and  the  dimples  appeared. 

"Then  she  must  be  better.  Is  she  better, 
Mrs.  Dunham,  do  you  think? " 

Dunham  shook  her  head.  Down  her  wrinkled 
face  stole  the  slow  tears  of  age,  falling  unheeded, 
one  after  another,  on  to  her  black  silk  bodice  and 
violet  silk  apron. 

A  certain  independence  of  character,  joined  to 
great  industry  and  a  respectful  manner,  had 
recommended  Dunham  to  her  mistress  from 
their  earliest  acquaintance.  They  quarrelled  just 
sufficiently  often,  and  Dunham  was  just  suffi- 
ciently outspoken,  to  enliven  their  daily  inter- 
course; but  the  maid  was  tactful  as  well  as  frank, 
and  knew  exactly  how  far  she  might  go. 


OF  GROSVENOR  SQUARE  15 

Now  that  her  lady  lay  dying,  Dunham  felt 
very  desolate ;  her  interests  outside  the  little  world 
of  Miss  Marney's  household  had  lessened  with  the 
passing  of  years  almost  to  vanishing  point. 

The  thought  of  change  chilled  and  saddened 
her.  She  would  have  been  shocked  indeed  had 
any  one  accused  her  of  wishing  to  die  before  her 
time;  but  yet,  had  she  been  given  any  choice  in 
the  matter  by  Providence,  it  is  probable  that  she 
would  have  chosen  to  accompany  Miss  Marney 
on  the  journey  which  lay  before  her  now, — as  she 
had  accompanied  her  on  shorter  journeys,  during 
the  past  fifty  years  of  her  existence. 

Jeanne's  pretty  face  reflected  the  maid's  sadness. 
Her  heart  was  tender,  and  her  impulses  were 
quick  and  warm,  though  perhaps  not  always  as 
wise  as  they  were  kind.  She  would  have  embraced 
and  consoled  the  old  woman  had  she  dared. 
But  the  distance  between  them  seemed  too 
awful  to  be  thus  bridged  over  by  an  impulse,  and 
Dunham  looked  too  inscrutably  respectful  and 
dignified  to  be  embraced  by  any  one, — far  less  by 
so  young  and  insignificant  a  stranger  as  Jeanne 
felt  herself  to  be.  Wherefore  she  followed  her 
guide  meekly  and  silently,  up  the  winding  stone 
staircase  of  the  old  house,  to  the  second  floor. 

She  felt  both  frightened  and  pitiful,  for  Dun- 
ham's expression  betrayed  that  she  believed  her 
mistress  to  be  on  the  point  of  death. 


CHAPTER  II 
THE  PEDIGREE 

Miss  MARNEY'S  aquiline  nose  and  blue  eyes 
were  visible  over  the  edge  of  the  sheet  as  Jeanne 
entered  the  bedroom.  A  nightcap  was  tied 
with  pink  ribbons  under  her  ample  chin,  and  a 
hand  with  a  white  kid  glove  on  it,  caressed  her 
little  growling  Yorkshire  terrier,  which  was  curled 
upon  the  quilt. 

All  her  life  Miss  Caroline  had  prided  herself 
upon  the  beauty  of  her  hands,  and  they  were 
exquisite  yet,  though  seldom  visible,  for  she  was 
busy  preserving  them  still. 

"Would  you  like  the  candles  ma'am,  or  the 
light  turned  on?"  said  Dunham,  advancing  to  the 
bed. 

"No,  there  is  a  good  fire;  the  room  is  light 
enough,  one  can  talk  better  by  firelight,"  said 
Miss  Mamey,  in  a  tone  so  brisk  that  it  made 
Jeanne  jump.  She  had  expected  to  find  her 
aunt  in  a  semi-moribund  condition,  and  was  no 
less  astonished  than  relieved  to  find  her  in  such 
cheerful-wise,  and  so  well  able  to  speak  naturally, 
and  give  orders  as  usual. 

16 


OF  GROSVENOR  SQUARE  17 

She  decided  that  Dunham  must  have  taken 
an  unnecessarily  gloomy  view  of  the  situa- 
tion. 

"Don't  fidget  about,  Dunham,"  said  the 
invalid,  imperiously,  "  but  go  out  of  the  room  and 
shut  the  door  after  you.  I  want  to  make  ac- 
quaintance with  my  grand-niece." 

"You  won't  tire  yourself,  ma'am?" 

"When  I  feel  tired,  Miss  Jane  will  ring." 

Dunham  turned  a  warning  face  towards  Jeanne, 
before  leaving  the  room,  and  Jeanne  nodded 
acquiescence  and  encouragement. 

The  door  was  shut,  and  she  found  herself  alone 
with  her  great-aunt. 

"I  like  to  see  your  fresh  face,  my  love,"  said 
Miss  Caroline  graciously.  "You  have  the  Marney 
complexion.  When  I  was  young  the  reddest  rose 
could  not  vie  with  my  colour.  There  is  no  such 
thing  as  a  complexion  nowadays.  Young  women 
are  all  pasty-faced." 

Jeanne's  confidence  was  restored  by  this  com- 
plimentary address.  Though  she  was  alarmed 
by  the  butler  and  footman,  and  even  rather 
fearful  of  Dunham  and  Mrs.  Pyke,  she  became  at 
once  easy  and  natural  in  the  presence  of  her 
august  relative;  for  like  many  ultra-sensitive 
persons,  she  alternated  between  the  extremes  of 
courage  and  timidity. 

"You  are  neither  thin  nor  sallow,"  said  Miss 
Marney.  "  No  one  in  fact,  could  believe  you  had 
a 


i8  THE  LONELY  LADY 

a  drop  of  French  blood  in  your  veins,  and  yet 
undeniably,  there  it  is." 

Her  voice  was  surprised  and  rather  triumphant, 
as  though  she  were  under  the  impression  that 
French  blood  must  be  yellow  rather  than  red, 
and  of  a  necessarily  inferior  quality.  "You  are 
not  in  the  least  like  your  father." 

"  But  it  is  a  great  disappointment  to  Louis  and 
me,"  said  Jeanne,  unconscious  of  her  aunt's 
prejudices,  "that  we  are  not  like  our  French 
ancestors.  We  sigh  over  it  every  time  we  look 
at  the  miniatures  which  belonged  to  poor  papa." 

"Have  you  those  miniatures  still?" 

"Why,  they  are  our  greatest  treasures,"  said 
Jeanne,  surprised  in  her  turn.  "Louis  said  I 
must  never  let  them  out  of  my  sight,  so  I  brought 
them  to  London  with  me.  We  are  very,  very 
proud  to  belong  to  them,  but  we  know  we  are  not 
like  them.  However,  I  mind  less  now  that  I 
know  who  Louis  is  like." 

"  Does  your  twin  brother  not  resemble  you?  " 

"Not  a  bit,"  said  Jeanne,  and  she  winked 
away  a  tear  at  the  mere  mention  of  her  brother, 
after  the  weeks  of  silence  she  had  unwillingly 
endured.  "  It  is  the  portrait  over  the  mantelpiece 
in  the  morning-room  that  Louis  is  like.  He  is  so 
like  that  it  might  just  as  well  be  his  portrait." 

"Like  the  Romney  picture  of  my  father,"  said 
Miss  Marney,  rather  sharply.  She  drew  herself 
up  eagerly  on  her  pillows,  and  the  gloved  hand 


OF  GROSVENOR  SQUARE  19 

that  settled  the  pink  bow  of  her  night-cap,  trembled 
nervously.  "How  very  extraordinary!  Your 
father  was  not  like  our  family;  and  your  mother 
was  a  farmer's  daughter  with,  as  I  have  always 
heard,  no  great  pretensions  to  looks — " 

"Just  a  little  round  thing  like  me,"  said 
Jeanne,  humbly  enough. 

"Yet  their  son  resembles  his  great-grand- 
father! I  find  it  difficult  to  believe  that  the 
likeness  can  be  anything  very  striking,  my  love. 
I  should  like  to  judge  for  myself." 

"He will  be  coming  home  very  soon  I  hope," 
said  Jeanne. 

Miss  Marney  moved  uneasily,  and  the  thought 
crossed  Jeanne's  mind  that  perhaps  even  the 
"very  soon"  might  be  too  late  for  her  aunt. 

"Perhaps  you  have  a  photograph,"  said  Miss 
Marney. 

"Of  course,  how  stupid  of  me.  It  was  taken 
five  years  ago,  so  he  may  be  changed.  But  he 
was  twenty — and  I  suppose  the  young  man  in 
the  picture — I  beg  your  pardon — "  said  Jeanne, 
confused — "I  mean  my  great-grandfather,  must 
have  been  the  same  age  when  that  was  painted." 

She  unfastened  the  bodice  of  her  plain  serge 
frock,  and  took  a  common  silver  locket  from  its 
little  white  nest  next  her  heart. 

This  she  produced  very  simply  and  handed 
to  her  aunt. 

Miss    Marney    groped   for   her   spectacle-case 


20  THE  LONELY  LADY 

beneath  the  pillow,  and  adjusted  the  glasses  on 
the  high  bridge  of  her  hawk  nose.  Then  she 
pressed  an  electric  button  in  a  knob  beside  her, 
and  by  the  light  of  a  tiny  glass  globe  above  the 
bed,  stared  for  some  moments  at  the  photograph. 

An  ever-increasing  interest  and  pleasure  were 
expressed  upon  her  good-looking  old  face. 

"My  dear,  you  are  quite  right.  He  is  re- 
markably like,  remarkably  like.  What  an  instance 
of  the  freaks  of  heredity!  The  son  of  Louis 
de  Courset,  whose  foreign  appearance  we  deplored ; 
and  of  a  farmer's  daughter  with  no  appearance  at 
all,  and  he  grows  up  the  living  image  of  my 
beloved  father,  who  was  one  of  the  finest-looking 
men  of  his  day.  Pray  how  tall  is  he?" 

"Six  foot  two  in  his  stockings,"  said  Jeanne, 
proudly.  "He  is  very  strong  and  athletic,  Aunt 
Caroline,  and  has  won  silver  cups — I  have  them 
at  home — for  running  and  jumping.  And  think 
how  well  he  has  done  for  himself  in  the  Army, 
poor  boy,  with  no  interest,  and  only  his  own 
brains  to  help  him  along." 

"Looks  are  of  quite  as  much  assistance  as 
brains,  my  dear  Jane,"  said  Miss  Marney,  "and 
he  owes  his  looks  to  us;"  she  seemed  soothed  and 
gratified  by  this  reflection.  "Your  brother  is 
very  handsome,  my  love.  He  is  a  true  Marney. 
I  should  like  to  keep  this  photograph." 

Jeanne's  brown  eyes  grew  round  with  dismay. 

"I  could  not  sleep  without  the  locket  in  my 


OF  GROSVENOR  SQUARE  21 

hand, "  she  faltered.  "  It  was  his  parting  present, 
Aunt  Caroline." 

Then  she  was  shocked  at  her  own  selfishness. 
Who  was  she  to  be  refusing  what  might  prove  to 
be,  perhaps,  the  last  request  of  her  dying  relative. 
Though  the  pink  bows  on  the  night-cap,  and  the 
liveliness  of  Miss  Caroline's  blue  eyes  looked 
very  little  like  dying  to  Jeanne. 

"  Keep  it  as  long  as  you  like, "  she  gasped,  and 
closed  the  gloved  fingers  gently  over  her  treasure. 
"If  it  is  any  comfort  to  you  to  have  it — if  it 
reminds  you  of  your  father — I  could  not  grudge 
it  to  you.  After  all — "  she  choked  back  a  sob — 
"I  do  not  need  anything  to  remind  me  of  Louis 
really.  He  is  here — in  my  heart, "  she  clasped  her 
little  hands  tragically  upon  her  round  young 
breast.  "I  think  of  him  always,  day  and  night." 

"You  shall  have  it  back  soon,"  said  Miss 
Marney. 

The  simplicity  of  her  niece  pleased  her.  She 
was  impulsive  herself,  and  generous,  though 
many  years  of  complete  independence  and  great 
wealth  had  caused  her  to  become  likewise  ca- 
pricious and  self-indulgent. 

"  I  see  you  mean  to  be  kind  to  me, "  she  said, 
with  amused  graciousness,  "and  I  mean  to  be 
kind  to  you.  Now  tell  me  what  you  think  of  the 
house." 

"I  think  it  is  very  beautiful  inside,  and  filled 
with  beautiful  things,"  said  Jeanne  sincerely. 


22  THE  LONELY  LADY 

"You  have  not,  of  course,  seen  the  saloons? 
I  keep  them  covered  up.  The  tapestry  chairs 
there  were  all  worked  in  the  eighteenth  century, 
and  are  very  exquisite.  I  keep  the  pictures 
covered  up  too.  I  believe  they  would  suffer  from 
the  London  blacks,  to  which  I  cannot  accustom 
myself  even  after  twenty  years'  experience. 
And  I  will  not  risk  the  family  collection.  Some 
day  I  will  show  it  to  you.  I  have  added  to  it 
myself,  as  regularly  as  I  was  able." 

"  I  should  like  to  see  it, "  said  Jeanne. 

"But  I  had  the  morning-room  made  ready  for 
you  to  sit  in.  I  am  very  partial  to  that  room. 
It  is  done  up  according  to  modern  taste,  for 
though  I  am  so  old,  I  pride  myself  upon  not  falling 
behind  the  times,"  said  Miss  Marney  bridling, 
"I  sit  there  always,  and  I  hope  you  like  it,  my 
love." 

"I  like  it  very  much  indeed, "  said  Jeanne,  and 
she  sighed  unconsciously.  "Are  you  always 
alone,  Aunt  Caroline?" 

"  I  am  almost  entirely  alone,  my  love.  I  do  not 
care  to  make  new  friends,  and  I  have  outlived  most 
of  my  old  ones.  Those  who  survive  are  down  in 
the  West  country,  and  correspondence  is  not  my 
forte.  I  drive  out  a  good  deal.  I  hope  you  order 
the  carriage  when  you  require  it?" 

"Thank  you  very  much — "  stammered  Jeanne, 
"but— I— I—" 

"Quite  so,  my  love;  the  fogs  have  been  rather 


OF  GROSVENOR  SQUARE  23 

bad,  I  urderstand;  but  you  will  feel  inclined  to  go 
and  see  your  friends  as  the  weather  improves." 

"I  know  only  one  person — I  scarcely  know  if 
she  is  a  friend  still — in  London,"  said  scrupulous 
Jeanne. 

"You  are  young,  my  love,  and  will  find  more 
friends ;  and  later  on  you  will  have  plenty  of  visits 
to  make,  I  have  no  doubt.  But  you  are  quite 
right  to  be  exclusive,"  said  her  aunt,  "I  do  not 
care  to  be  hail-fellow-well-met  myself  with  every- 
body I  see.  We  must  try  and  amuse  each  other, 
for  the  hours  seem  very  long  to  me,  lying  here." 

"And  they  seem  very  long  to  me  downstairs," 
sighed  Jeanne.  "  For  I  do  not  like  to  talk  to  the 
servants  even  if  they  seemed  inclined — which 
they  don't—" 

"  I  should  think  not,  my  love,  it  would  not  do 
at  all.  Never  encourage  familiarity.  But  have 
you  nothing  to  do?  You  should  never  sit  idle. 
It  is  a  bad  habit  for  a  young  person.  Have  you 
not  even  brought  your  tatting? "  said  Miss  Marney, 
solicitously. 

Jeanne  knew  not  what  tatting  might  be,  but 
she  shook  her  head,  for  whatever  it  was,  she  had 
certainly  not  brought  it. 

"I  brought  nothing  but  absolute  necessaries. 
I  did  not  know  how  long  I  was  to  stay.  Uncle 
Roberts  said  I  was  to  go  at  once  when  your 
telegram  came;  so  I  started  as  soon  as  the  cart 
could  be  got  ready,  and  brought  as  few  things  as 


24  THE  LONELY  LADY 

possible.  Just  a  small  box,  and  my  desk  in  my 
hand." 

"You  must  be  sadly  uncomfortable,  my  love," 
said  Miss  Caroline,  sympathetically.  "Still  it 
will  give  you  some  shopping  to  do.  Pray  hand 
me  the  bag  on  my  quilt." 

Jeanne  attempted  to  do  so,  but  the  little  terrier 
growled  ominously. 

"Sensible  dog,"  said  Miss  Marney,  in  approving 
tones,  "  you  see  how  he  guards  my  property." 

But  she  quieted  her  pet,  and  the  bag  was 
extricated.  Miss  Caroline  opened  it  without 
removing  the  white  kid  glove,  and  took  out  a 
bundle  of  crackling  bank-notes. 

Selecting  a  couple,  she  handed  them  to  Jeanne. 

"You  must  get  yourself  any  trifle  you  require, 
my  dear  Jane.  No  thanks,  I  beg.  Put  them  in 
the  pocket  of  your  gown.  And  pray  write  and 
desire  that  your  wardrobe  may  be  sent.  I  am 
in  hopes  to  persuade  you  to  stay  on." 

Jeanne's  heart  sank,  but  she  tried  to  conceal 
her  dismay  as  well  as  she  could;  and  faltered 
forth  her  thanks  for  her  relative's  proposed 
hospitality. 

"I  am  desirous  to  know,"  said  Miss  Marney, 
settling  herself  among  her  pillows,  and  half 
closing  her  eyes,  "  how  far  you  are  aware  of  your 
near  connection  with  our  family.  I  am  too 
weak  to  be  able  to  talk  much  myself,  but  I  can 
give  you  my  attention  very  well."  Her  accents 


OF  GROSVENOR  SQUARE  25 

were  regretful,  and  Jeanne  divined  that  Miss 
Caroline  was  more  accustomed  to  hold  forth 
herself  than  to  listen  to  others.  "Speak  clearly, 
my  love.  People  nowadays  mumble  so  dread- 
fully." 

Without  suspecting  her  aunt  of  deafness, 
Jeanne  obediently  raised  her  voice. 

"  I  know  more  about  our  own  family  than  about 
yours;  but  Uncle  Roberts  has  told  us  what  he 
had  heard  of  both.  Then  there  are  the  labels  on 
the  miniatures,  and  an  odd  volume  of  a  kind  of 
old  French  history  of  the  ancienne  noblesse, 
containing  an  account  of  the  de  Coursets.  It 
brings  down  the  pedigree  as  far  as  my  great- 
grandfather." 

"  Ah, "  said  Miss  Marney,  dryly. 

"There  were  two  brothers  and  a  sister;  Pierre, 
Charles,  and  Anne-Marie.  Our  great-grandfather 
was  Pierre,  the  Marquis  de  Courset.  He  was 
page  to  Madame  Royale,  the  daughter  of  Louis 
XVI  and  Marie- Antoinette.  He  escaped  with 
his  young  wife  during  the  Revolution  in  1793, 
and  came  to  England;  and  gave  drawing  lessons 
in  Bath  to  support  them  both.  But  he  had 
been  an  officer  in  the  French  cavalry,  and  could  n't 
be  happy  without  soldiering,  so  he  left  his  wife 
and  their  little  son  Henri,  and  joined  the  cam- 
paign of  the  French  princes  in  Germany,  and 
was  killed.  But  he  desired  that  his  son  should 
be  brought  up  an  Englishman." 


26  THE  LONELY  LADY 

"  Quite  right.  I  know  all  this,  and,  as  you  may 
suppose,  it  is  not  very  interesting  to  me,  but  it 
must  be  got  through  before  we  come  to  our 
family,"  said  Miss  Marney,  tossing  her  head 
among  the  pillows. 

"Would  you  rather  I  stopped?"  Jeanne  said, 
somewhat  discouraged  by  this  reception  of  her 
enthusiastic  recital  of  a  history  which  was  to  her 
the  most  interesting  and  romantic  in  the  world. 

"  No,  my  love,  I  am  equally  struck  with  the 
retentiveness  of  your  memory,  and  your  respect 
for  the  past.  Pray  continue." 

"  The  brother  of  the  Marquis,  my  great  grand- 
uncle  Charles,  was  in  the  French  navy, ' '  said  Jeanne 
"  and  served  on  board  the  Calipso,  at  Martinique ; 
a  battle-ship  which  remained  faithful  to  the  royal 
cause  throughout  the  Revolution.  Louis  XVIII 
made  him  a  Chevalier  of  St.  Louis  and  of  the 
Legion  of  Honour;  and  that  is  all  the  book  save 
about  him.  I  don't  know  if  he  married  and  had 
children.  Anyway  he  did  not  emigrate,  he  stayed 
in  France." 

"I  never  heard  of  him,  but  a  Frenchman  is  a 
Frenchman,"  said  Miss  Marney,  sternly  and 
incontrovertibly. 

"The  little  sister,  the  Comtesse  Anne-Marie," 
said  Jeanne,  yet  more  disconcerted,  "was  a 
Chanoinesse,  but  we  do  not  know  exactly  what 
that  means.  She  is  the  one  we  like  best.  She 
was  the  first  noble  lady  to  be  arrested  in  the 


OF  GROSVENOR  SQUARE  27 

Revolution,  and  she  was  imprisoned  in  the 
Citadelle  of  Calais  during  the  Terror,  and  died 
there.  She  looks  so  gay  and  beautiful  and 
disdainful,  and  has  a  mouth  like  a  Cupid's  bow." 

"Ladies  in  miniatures  always  have  that  kind 
of  mouth,  my  love,"  said  Miss  Mamey.  "Her 
fate  was  very  shocking.  But  we  will  return  to  the 
little  son  Henry.  He  was  left  in  Bath  under 
the  care  of  his  widowed  mother,  who,  most 
fortunately  for  herself,  eventually  married  an 
English  gentleman." 

"But  it  wasn't  very  faithful  of  her,"  said 
Jeanne  indignantly. 

"Possibly  not,  my  love.  Foreigners  are  more 
apt,  I  believe,  to  be  frivolous  than  faithful.  Still, 
she  married  an  English  esquire  of  fortune  and 
repute,  who  was  a  true  father  to  Henry,  and  sent 
him  to  Eton,  and  put  him  into  a  cavalry  regiment. 
He  grew  up  quite  English  though  he  was  called 
the  Count  de  Courset." 

"  Yes, "  said  Jeanne,  trying  to  keep  the  sound  of 
regret  out  of  her  voice. 

"He  was  a  Colonel  in  the  2Qth  Hussars  when 
we  made  his  acquaintance,"  said  Miss  Marney, 
who  now  took  up  the  recital  with  much  energy  in 
spite  of  her  weakness.  "  He  became  a  Lieu  tenant- 
General  and  married  my  dear  sister  Jane,  who 
died  in  childbed,  in  1851.  Poor  Henry  fell  before 
Sevastopol  in  '55,  and  my  brother  and  I  adopted 
their  little  Louis." 


28  THE  LONELY  LADY 

"That    was    my    father,"    said    Jeanne. 

"I  can  hardly  expect  you  to  realise,  my  love, 
in  the  light  of  after  events,  how  devotedly  at- 
tached we  were  to  the  orphan  son  of  our  gentle 
beloved  Jane.  But  Louis  was  not,  unhappily, 
a  true  Marney :  his  foreign  blood  was  a  distress  to 
us  both,  and  his  disposition,  alas,  though  at- 
tractive to  some  people,  too  clearly  denoted  his 
French  origin.  His  character  was  not  congenial 
to  my  dear  brother,  a  very  grave  and  serious 
man.  Louis  had  a  happy  nature,  light-hearted, 
facile,  and,  and — but  in  short,  the  exact  opposite 
of  your  poor  uncle.  Louis  le  dtbonnaire,  I  used 
to  call  him,  fondly  and  playfully."  She  sighed. 
"I  over-indulged  him,  my  love,  for  it  seemed  to 
me  as  though  Providence  had  bestowed  him  upon 
us.  My  dear  brother  designed  him  for  his  heir; 
being  himself  a  great  invalid,  and  unlikely  to 
marry.  We  planned  that  Louis  should  assume 
his  mother's  name,  and  become  one  day  Mamey 
of  Orsett." 

"And  you  cast  him  off  because  he  married  my 
mother,"  said  Jeanne,  holding  her  head  very 
high,  in  spite  of  her  timidity. 

"My  dear  Jane,  I  cannot  discuss  your  father's 
conduct  with  you,"  said  Miss  Marney,  with 
great  dignity,  "it  would  be  neither  charitable, 
nor  seemly.  When  I  tell  you  that  all  our  hopes 
were  centred  in  him,  you  must  imagine  for  your- 
self, as  well  as  you  can,  that  we  did  not  lightly 


OF  GROSVENOR  SQUARE  29 

decide  to  abandon  them  for  ever.  It  pleased 
God—  Miss  Caroline's  voice  shook,  but  her 
sunken  blue  eyes  gleamed  brightly,  "that  he 
should  atone  by  a  gallant  death  for  many  errors 
of  youth— 

"  They  have  all  died  like  that,  the  de  Coursets — 
it  is  the  family  tradition,"  said  Jeanne,  with  a 
throb  of  pride,  "but,  oh — how  frightened  that 
made  me  for  Louis  all  through  the  Boer 
War.  And  he  was  never  even  wounded, — after 
all!  " 

"It  also  pleased  God,"  said  Miss  Marney, 
"that  the  last  of  the  Marneys  of  Orsett  should 
be — just  an  old  brother  and  sister  living  together, 
and  alone;  pursued  by  misfortune,  as  you  must 
know." 

Jeanne  had  heard  of  the  great  fire  which  had 
destroyed  Orsett  Hall,  and  she  nodded  sym- 
pathetically. 

"I  know  you  lost  your  home,"  she  said  softly. 

"And  my  brother,"  said  Miss  Marney,  "he  was 
not  an  old  man,  but  he  never  recovered  the 
shock ;  he  would  not  face  the  rebuilding  of  Orsett, 
so  we  came  to  London.  I  had  always  desired 
to  live  in  London,  thus  sorrowfully  was  my 
wish  attained — too  late  to  give  me  any  pleasure. 
We  bought  this  house  from  a  distant  cousin,  the 
Duke  of  Monaghan,  and  here  we  settled  with  the 
salvage  of  our  home — and  here  my  brother  died." 

She  wiped  away  a  tear,  but  it  seemed  rather  an 


30  THE  LONELY  LADY 

involuntary  tribute  to  her  brother's  memory  than 
the  outcome  of  any  agitation,  for  her  voice  was 
quite  calm. 

"  Fortunately  we  had  saved  most  of  the  family 
treasures;  the  pictures,  which  are  very  valuable, 
the  library,  the  plate,  and  some  of  the  furniture. 
My  love,  I  hope  these  things  will  always  be  cared 
for  as  I  have  cared  for  them.  I  have  guarded 
them  as  the  apple  of  my  eye,"  said  Miss  Marney, 
very  earnestly.  "During  the  last  twenty  years, 
the  care  of  them  has  been  my  only  solace.  I  have 
had  the  pictures  cleaned  and  restored  by  degrees 
under  my  own  supervision;  and  a  catalogue 
raisonne'  made  of  the  books.  They  have  supplied 
the  place  of  friends  and  acquaintances,  being  so 
very  full  of  memories  and  associations  for  me. 
I  was  too  old  when  I  came  here,  my  love,  to  begin 
a  fresh  life — but  you  are  young.  You  will  call 
upon  people  later  on,  and  they  will  be  glad  to  see 
you." 

There  was  a  pause. 

"You  are  wondering,"  said  Miss  Marney, 
shrewdly,  "  why  when  your  father  was  killed  in 
Afghanistan,  we  did  not  send  for  you  and  your 
twin-brother,  twenty  years  ago?" 

"  I  have  been  wondering  ever  since  I  came  here," 
said  Jeanne  frankly. 

"  My  brother  had  the  strongest  possible  feelings 
against  such  mesalliances  as  the  one  your  father 
chose  to  contract.  It  was  utterly  repugnant  to 


OF  GROSVENOR  SQUARE  31 

him.  His  indulgence  was  already  exhausted  by 
your  poor  father's  extravagance  and — and  other 
matters  into  which  I  cannot  enter  with  you;  and 
he  warned  Louis  that  if  he  married  this  young 
woman  he  would  henceforth  be  a  stranger  to 
him  and  to  his  children  after  him.  He  kept 
his  word,  as  a  Marney  naturally  would,"  said 
Miss  Caroline  with  excessive  haughtiness.  "He 
never,  in  fact,  wavered  for  a  moment.  He  told 
me  he  hoped  I  should  never  waver.  But  he 
extracted  no  promise."  She  hesitated.  "Your 
brother  is  very  dear  to  you,  Jeanne? " 

"He  is  everything  in  the  world  to  me,"  said 
Jeanne. 

Her  brown  eyes  glistened  in  the  firelight, 
which  now  illumined  the  room  somewhat  less 
brightly. 

"  Then  you  will  understand  that  his  wishes  were 
the  more  sacred  when  he  was  no  longer  with  me." 

"Then  why " 

"  I  am  coming  to  that.  The  actions  of  human 
beings,"  said  Miss  Marney,  solemnly,  "are  not 
always  guided  by  principle.  More  often,  perhaps, 
especially  in  our  family,  by  impulse,  prejudice, 
or  sentiment.  Let  me  get  my  dear  dog  safe  and 
snug,  or  he  is  such  an  intelligent  animal  that  he 
will  assuredly  bite  you.  Now  you  may  look  in 
the  pocket  of  my  bag — don't  fumble  anything 
else — and  you  will  find  a  little  letter  in  a  fancy 
envelope.  It  was  written  to  me  when  your 


32  THE  LONELY  LADY 

father  was  at  a  preparatory  school,  the  first  time 
he  ever  left  home." 

The  firelight  flickered  over  the  mahogany 
furniture ;  on  the  polished  glass  top  of  the  dressing- 
table,  laden  with  crystal  and  gold ;  on  the  medicine 
bottles  by  the  bedside;  and  on  the  little  brown 
head  of  Jeanne,  stooping  by  the  brass  fender  over 
the  dim  writing  on  the  small  yellow  sheet. 

Miss  Caroline  Marney  lay  still  among  the 
pillows  of  her  four-poster  bed;  apparently  con- 
sidering the  ornamentation  of  the  ceiling,  as  she 
caressed  mechanically  her  sleeping  lap-dog ;  twin- 
ing the  gloved  taper  fingers  among  its  silvery 
grey  curls. 

She  had  come  very  nearly  to  the  end  of  her 
life's  journey,  and  doubtless  her  thoughts  travelled 
a  long  way  back  on  the  road,  bridging  space,  and 
lingering  among  those  flowery  tracks  of  youth 
which  seem  always  so  fair  to  the  onlooker,  with 
a  beauty  which  the  little  pilgrim  straying  therein 
seldom  recognises  until  he  has  left  them  far 
behind. 

Jeanne  read  the  letter. 

"Slough,  Windsor,  January,  1858. 
"  My  Dere  Auntie, 

"  /  am  ivritting  as  you  bid  me,  but  it  is  very  difficuld 
to  writ  here.  I  hope  soon  it  will  be  time  for  me  to 
leeve  here  and  go  to  Eton.  I  am  not  at  all  homsick 
as  you  jeered  I  would  be.  I  hope  it  will  soon  be 


OF  GROSVENOR  SQUARE  33 

the  hollydays.  I  wish  I  had  been  a  better  boy  to  uncle 
Philip,  and  then  I  need  not  have  come  to  schol  yet. 
There  is  one  boy  hear  yonger  than  me,  so  I  am  not 
the  yongest.  I  send  everybody  at  Orsett  my  love,  and 
plese  plese  tell  Uncle  Philip  I  fele  very  sorry  indeed 
now  to  have  been  so  bad.  I  deresay  I  shall  bring 
home  some  prizes.  It  is  not  three  months  to  the 
hollydays.  Plese  feed  my  guiny  pigs.  My  derest 
darling  Anty,  you  need  not  be  afrade  I  will  forget 
you  at  schole. 

"  Rember  that  werever  I  am  I  will  holways  love  you 
even  when  you  are  quit  old. 

"  Your  off.  and  dutiful  nephew, 

"  Louis  de  C  our  set. " 

"  I  thought  I  had  destroyed  all  his  letters, "  said 
Miss  Caroline's  voice  from  the  bed.  "  But  I  found 
that  one  the  other  day,  just  before  my  illness,  when 
I  was  turning  out  an  old  desk.  If  you  ask  me, 
Jane,  why,  after  all,  I  sent  for  you — that  is  the 
only  reason  I  can  give  you." 

"  You  are  not  afraid-1— ' '  Jeanne's  voice  faltered 
and  she  looked  rather  fearfully  round  the  shadowy 
corners  of  the  large  luxurious  room,  "you  are 
not  afraid  that  your  poor  brother  would  be 
angry  with  you?  " 

"  I  am  so  close  to  him  now, "  said  Miss  Marney's 
voice  in  the  darkness,  "that  I  know  he  is  not." 


CHAPTER  III 
THE  MINIATURES 

THE  lonely  lady  went  down-stairs  to  her  own 
bedroom  after  this  conversation,  not  a  little 
cheered  and  comforted  by  the  first  real  intercourse 
she  had  held  with  a  human  being  since  her  arrival 
in  Grosvenor  Square. 

Her  bedroom  was  on  the  first  floor ;  a  strangely 
solitary  apartment,  whereof  the  isolation  inspired 
her  with  much  nightly  terror. 

A  suite  of  cold  white  drawing-rooms  had  been 
turned  into  a  series  of  picture  galleries,  and  though 
the  walls  were  crowded  with  pictures,  these  were 
carefully  veiled  from  view,  and  the  scanty 
furniture,  dotted  about  the  ocean  of  polished 
parquet,  was  muffled  in  holland  covers,  so  that  the 
saloons  presented  a  very  comfortless  and  ghostly 
appearance. 

The  empty  music -room  beyond  had  no  furniture 
at  all  save  a  grand  piano,  and  two  shrouded 
chairs.  The  great  mahogany  folding  doors  of 
this  apartment  opened  upon  the  landing  of  a 
secondaiy  staircase ;  and  across  this  landing,  in  a 

34 


THE  LONELY  LADY  35 

cul  de  sac,  was  the  spare  room  which  had  been 
assigned  to  Jeanne. 

It  had  not  occurred  to  Miss  Marney  that  her 
niece  might  be  nervous;  she  had  herself  no  ex- 
perience of  night  fears.  She  occupied  the  best 
bedroom  on  the  second  floor,  and  Dunham  slept 
in  the  communicating  apartment  on  the  right, 
whilst  old  Mrs.  Pyke  inhabited  the  dressing-room 
beyond  the  bathroom  on  her  left.  Moreover  a 
hand  bell  stood  by  her  side,  and  the  knob  of  an 
electric  bell  was  nightly  placed  beneath  her  pillow, 
so  that  she  might  be  able  to  summon  assistance  in 
a  moment,  should  a  burglar  appear,  as  Dunham 
constantly  apprehended  he  would. 

Jeanne  had  a  bell  in  her  room,  but  she  had  no 
idea  whether  any  one  would  hear  it  if  she  rang 
it  after  the  household  had  retired;  and  being, 
besides,  unaccustomed  to  the  convenience  of  bells, 
the  sight  of  it  brought  her  little  comfort. 

She  suffered  great  agonies  of  nightly  terrors; 
thinking  of  the  silent  ghostly  suite  of  rooms 
beyond  her  own,  or  listening  to  the  unaccustomed 
noises  of  the  streets;  with  the  knowledge  that  no 
one  else  was  sleeping  on  the  same  floor,  and  that 
the  servants'  quarters  were  carefully  shut  off  by 
green  baize  doors  at  the  end  of  the  long  passage. 

But  to-day  she  felt  less  lonely,  because  the 
sounds  overhead  no  longer  spoke  to  her  of  mystery 
and  suffering.  She  could  picture  her  aunt's  face 
on  the  pillow,  with  the  pink  bows  tied  under  her 


36  THE  LONELY  LADY 

chin,  and  Mrs.  Dunham  moving  about,  making 
up  the  fire,  and  ministering  to  her  various  needs. 

Coming  freshly  from  the  perusal  of  that  letter, 
penned  half  a  century  ago,  by  a  miserable  little 
home-sick  schoolboy,  it  was  natural  that  Jeanne 
should  go  straight  to  the  shabby  desk  which 
contained  his  despised  family  records;  consisting 
of  one  worn  old  blue  leather  volume,  stamped 
faintly  with  the  fleur-de-lys,  and  five  miniatures. 

From  this  little  stock  of  treasures,  she  drew  first 
her  father's  portrait. 

It  was  a  very  bad  little  painting,  and  perhaps 
her  long  enforced  study  of  the  Romney  picture 
in  the  morning-room  helped  to  open  her  eyes  to 
its  deficiencies. 

She  laid  it  down  with  a  sigh,  and  lifted  the 
triple  frame  which  contained  the  three  French 
miniatures,  of  her  great-grandfather  and  his 
brother  and  sister  in  their  premiere  jeunesse. 

The  young  Marquis  wore  a  wig  of  powdered 
curls  depending  on  either  side  of  a  full,  sensuous 
face,  with  a  high  nose,  thick  dark  eyebrows, 
merry  brown  eyes,  and  a  pronounced  dimpled 
chin.  The  feature  most  attractive  and  individual 
was  the  mouth,  beautifully  shaped,  and  redder 
even  than  the  crimson  drapery  held  by  a  white 
hand,  in  most  artificial  pose,  around  a  loosely 
open  shirt  of  frilled  lawn,  and  an  unbuttoned 
surtout. 

Charles,  the  naval  officer,  was  cast  in  a  sterner 


OF  GROSVENOR  SQUARE  37 

and  plainer  mould ;  but  Anne-Marie  resembled  her 
elder  brother.  There  was  no  trace  of  the  rtiigeuse 
in  this  miniature,  which  represented  a  young  girl, 
with  raven  tresses  and  flowered  head-dress,  piled 
above  arched  brows  and  hazel  eyes,  and  simpering, 
cherry,  bow-shaped  lips.  It  was  strange  to  look 
upon  the  picture,  and  read  the  record  in  the  shabby 
book  of  her  dignified,  heroic  acceptance  of  im- 
prisonment; of  her  lonely  death  in  the  Citadelle 
of  Calais;  the  first  woman  of  her  order  to  suffer 
arrest,  and  victim  most  innocent  of  the  Revolution. 

The  fifth  miniature  was  in  a  locket,  and  re- 
presented her  grandfather,  Henri,  as  he  had  been 
when  he  married  Miss  Jane  Marney  of  Orsett. 
Doubtless  the  medallion  was  a  wedding  present 
and  had  been  worn  upon  the  bride's  heart;  for  a 
lock  of  the  gallant  Colonel's  grey  hair  was  enclosed 
in  the  crystal  back,  and  on  the  rim  was  engraved 
in  minute  letters,  "Henri  Charles  Louis,  Marquis 
et  Comte  de  Courset,  etc,  etc.,  Col.  2gth  Hussars." 

Jeanne's  father's  bore  only  his  name.  The 
French  title  had  evidently  been  discarded  by  his 
mother's  family.  The  boy  who  was  destined  to 
become  Marney  of  Orsett  could  afford  to  ignore 
such  empty  and  barren  honours.  Perhaps  the 
"gentle  Jane"  had  been  less  scornful,  Jeanne 
thought. 

Louis  and  Jeanne  had  built  many  a  fairy  castle 
of  hope  and  romance  in  their  childhood,  all 
founded  upon  this  wonderful  French  ancestry 


38  THE  LONELY  LADY 

which  Miss  Marney  regarded  so  contemptuously. 

Louis  was  burning  with  ambition,  and  fertile 
in  imagination,  and  his  bold  fancy  embraced 
many  a  scheme  for  the  restoration  of  the  French 
monarchy,  and  his  own  consequent  aggrandise- 
ment. 

His  hopes  were  for  himself,  Jeanne's  were  for 
him,  but  her  sympathy  and  ardour  were  not  the 
less  warm  on  this  account;  and  her  dreams 
continued  long  after  his  had  been  quenched  in 
the  realities  of  an  active  life. 

Their  honest,  prosaic  Welsh  uncle  had  no  idea 
of  the  secret  aspirations  of  the  twins'  early  youth, 
nor  was  his  respect  for  French  blood  and  breeding 
any  higher  than  Miss  Marney 's  own. 

Louis  and  Jeanne,  who  were  called  Lewis  and 
Jane  at  Coed-Ithel,  ascribed  his  contempt  to 
ignorance,  and  learnt  to  smile  inwardly  when  he 
expressed  his  views  on  the  subject. 

"Poor  sister  Jenny,"  said  the  farmer,  alluding 
to  their  dead  mother  with  indulgent  pity.  "So 
much  to  do  about  her  grand  marriage,  and,  willy- 
nilly,  she  must  have  him  against  the  wishes  of 
his  family,  and  what  did  my  fine  gentleman  do 
for  her  after  all?  Lost  her  a  good  situation  in 
Bath,  and  sent  her  here  with  his  pedigree  in  her 
pocket  and  never  a  brass  farthing  to  keep  it 
company.  A  pedigree  be  good  for  stock,  but  it 
never  made  human  beings  any  more  worth  that 
ever  I  heard  of.  Poor  Jenny  had  a  hankering 


OF  GROSVENOR  SQUARE  39 

after  the  gentry,  more  than  ever  I  could  under* 
stand;  but  there  it  is,  she  was  church  and  I  was 
chapel,  so  to  speak,  and  her  children  shall  be  what 
she  was,  as  is  but  right  and  natural.  Still  she 
came  to  be  glad,  pension  or  no  pension,  that  her 
boy  should  be  brought  up  on  a  good  honest  farm. 
I  don't  grudge  him  a  good  education  though. 
He  's  a  gentleman's  son,  and  I  can  afford  to 
pay  for  'un.  Take  it  and  welcome,  says  I." 

Louis  took  the  best  he  could  get.  The  Rector 
of  the  parish  was  friendly  with  the  headmaster 
of  the  grammar  school  in  the  nearest  large  market 
town,  and  interested  him  in  the  history  of  the 
twins  while  Louis  was  yet  a  little  boy.  The  child's 
lively  intelligence,  precocity,  and  good  looks  did 
the  rest.  In  time  Louis  won  scholarships  as  well 
as  the  approval  and  affection  of  his  master,  and  he 
delighted  his  uncle  by  retaining  his  interest  in 
the  farm  throughout  the  triumphs  which  awaited 
him  in  his  school  and  college  career. 

"You  can't  make  that  boy  a  farmer,"  said  the 
grammar-school  wiseacre. 

"  I  '11  be  a  farmer  some  day, "  said  young  Louis, 
"but  a  soldier  first  as  my  father  was  before  me. 
Uncle  Roberts  can  carry  on  the  farm  without  my 
help  for  many  a  long  year  yet.  When  he  wants 
that,  I  '11  come." 

The  lad  was  bold,  and  knew  his  own  mind,  and 
when  to  speak  it.  He  won  his  uncle  over  to  his 
own  way  of  thinking,  where  the  schoolmaster 


40  THE  LONELY  LADY 

might  have  advised  in  vain,  and  went  to  an  army 
crammer  in  due  course;  old  Llewellyn  Roberts 
showing  no  signs  that  he  grudged  the  expense  of 
the  lad's  education.  Perhaps  he  was  proud  of 
his  nephew's  wit  and  industry,  and  the  ease  with 
which  he  held  his  own  in  sport  as  in  study. 

But  when  Louis  had  once  obtained  his  com- 
mission, his  uncle,  beyond  providing  him  with  his 
outfit  and  fifty  pounds  in  ready  money,  assisted 
him  no  further,  holding  that  he  was  now  a  made 
man,  who  must  earn  his  bread  and  live  by  his 
profession.  The  boy  asked  no  more  favours; 
sailed  for  India,  with  a  light  heart  and  the  highest 
hopes,  and  managed  for  a  couple  of  years,  by 
hook  or  by  crook,  to  keep  his  head  above  water 
in  spite  of  a  too  open-handed  disposition.  Now 
and  then  Jeanne  received  from  him  letters  of 
financial  despair,  over  which  she  wept,  for  she 
had  not  a  penny  of  her  own  in  the  world,  and  was 
powerless  to  help  him. 

But  when  the  South  African  War  broke  out, 
and  Louis,  who  had  been  coming  home  with  his 
regiment  in  the  spring,  was  ordered  to  the  front, 
he  wrote  joyfully  to  Jeanne: 

"/  wonder  how  many  poor  fellows  this  war  has 
saved  from  bankruptcy.  Me,  for  one." 

Llewellyn  Roberts  was  a  sturdy,  independent 
man,  and  had  sought  no  assistance  in  the  bringing 
up  of  his  orphan  nephew  and  niece,  from  their 


OF  GROSVENOR  SQUARE  41 

father's  relatives.  Nevertheless  he  was  too  shrewd 
a  Welshman  to  refuse  the  tardy  hand  of  fellowship 
held  out  by  their  wealthy  and,  presumably, 
dying  great-aunt. 

On  receipt  of  Miss  Marney's  telegram  he  had 
desired  his  neice  to  pack  up  immediately  and  go 
to  London,  and  to  stay  as  long  as  she  was 
wanted. 

Girls  did  not  enter  much  into  the  calculations 
of  Uncle  Roberts ;  he  was  a  man  of  few  words  and 
fewer  promises,  and  though  he  made  no  secret 
of  his  intention  that  Louis  should  inherit  Coed- 
Ithel,  he  never  talked  of  making  any  provision 
for  Jeanne. 

If  her  great-aunt  left  her  a  legacy  however,  so 
much  the  better  for  her.  Whether  she  did  or  no, 
Jeanne  was  a  pretty  girl,  and  would  probably 
get  married  some  day.  Uncle  Roberts  did  not 
pause  to  consider  that  Jeanne  had  scarcely  seen, 
much  less  spoken  to  a  marriageable  young  man 
in  her  life.  If  she  did  not  marry,  it  would  be  her 
brother's  obvious  duty  to  keep  her. 

He  did  not  trouble  himself  concerning  Jeanne, 
though  he  liked,  in  a  vague  way,  to  know  she  was 
"about  the  place,"  a  timid,  bright-eyed,  dimpled 
little  thing,  always  happy  and  occupied,  it  seemed 
to  him,  with  her  own  harmless  concerns,  into  which 
he  had  no  wish  to  pry.  He  left  her  entirely  to 
the  care  and  under  the  orders  of  old  Granny 
Morgan,  the  woman  who  kept  house  for  him,  and 


42  THE  LONELY  LADY 

who  still  looked  upon  Jeanne  as  a  little  girl,  though 
she  was  five  and  twenty  years  old. 

Nor  did  Jeanne  receive  overmuch  consideration 
at  the  Rectory,  whither  she  was  perpetually 
invited,  or  sent  for,  to  play  with  the  solitary 
daughter  of  the  house,  some  two  years  her  senior, 
because  Cecilia  required  a  playmate,  and  Jeanne 
was  gentle,  good-tempered,  and  refined  in  speech 
and  manner,  being  quick  to  observe  and  to  imitate 
all  that  appealed  to  her  natural  taste,  and  to 
discard  what  did  not. 

She  learnt  her  first  lessons  in  the  village  school, 
which  was  more  than  two  miles  distant  from 
Coed-Ithel,  and  a  long  tramp  for  a  little  maid 
in  bad  weather.  Here  she  got  on  so  fast  that  her 
uncle  was  minded  to  send  her  to  a  genteel  boarding- 
school,  being  well-to-do;  but  he  was  happily 
deterred  from  this  course  by  the  Rector's  wife, 
who  was  not,  and  who  saw  her  way  to  halve  the 
salary  of  a  governess  and  obtained  a  companion 
for  her  child  at  one  and  the  same  time. 

Louis  privately  rejoiced  over  this  arrangement, 
whilst  pretending  to  scorn  Jeanne's  studies,  and 
her  friendship  for  the  spoilt  Cecilia. 

He  found  fault  with  her,  teased  her,  and  com- 
manded her,  after  the  fashion  of  brothers;  whilst 
she  worshipped  him  untiringly,  excused  his  faults, 
and  bore  patiently  with  his  moods — though 
often  winking  away  a  tear  in  secret — after  the 
fashion  of  sisters. 


OF  GROSVENOR  SQUARE  43 

The  twins  loved  each  other  so  intensely  that 
they  were  obliged  to  hide  their  feelings,  each  from 
each,  for  fear  the  other  should  discover  the  truth. 

Jeanne,  of  course,  concealed  her  affection 
less  carefully  than  Louis, — wept  openly  when  he 
went  to  school,  and  even  seized  the  opportunity 
to  be  personally  demonstrative  whenever  he  was, 
from  any  cause,  too  dejected  to  resent  being 
kissed,  or  to  be  annoyed  with  her  for  thus  dragging 
to  the  surface  feelings  which  should  have  been 
too  deep  for  outward  expression. 

She  reproached  him  sometimes,  for  unkindness, 
when  he  declined  her  offered  caresses ;  but  secretly 
she  thought  him  a  very  manly  boy. 

Though  Louis  indulged  far  less  in  romantic 
day  dreams  than  did  his  solitary  sister,  yet  he 
treasured  the  few  records  of  his  family's  past 
greatness  no  less  jealously  than  she.  Though 
his  prejudices  as  a  British  schoolboy  warred  with 
his  sympathy  for  France,  yet  he  had  the  history 
of  that  country  at  his  fingers'  ends,  and  kept 
steadily  in  view  his  determination  to  perfect 
himself  in  the  language  of  his  fathers. 

As  he  grew  older,  his  perception  widened  with 
his  reading,  and  he  found  it  possible  to  combine 
loyalty  for  the  land  of  his  adoption  with  reverence 
for  the  misfortunes  of  his  own  race. 

At  Sandhurst  it  was  the  fashion  among  his 
comrades  to  encourage  young  de  Courset  to  hold 
forth  upon  the  tragedy  which  must  ensue  in 


44  THE  LONELY  LADY 

case  war  broke  out  between  England  and  France. 

His  intentions  hovered  between  a  dramatic 
resignation  of  his  sword,  and  immediate  suicide; 
and  the  cadets  warmly  advocated  the  latter 
course,  and  supplied  him  with  innumerable 
receipts  for  a  painless  end.  Their  derision  was  of 
a  friendly  kind,  however,  for  Louis  was  popular, 
amusing,  and  sincere.  It  is  affectation  which 
usually  excites  the  ridicule  that  kills;  and  is  the 
unforgivable  sin  most  utterly  detested  by  honest 
youth. 

From  the  time  of  his  first  school-going  Louis 
lived  but  little  at  the  farm;  and  as  he  was  not 
infrequently  invited  to  pass  a  portion  of  his 
holidays  with  one  schoolfellow  or  another,  he  had 
many  friends  of  whom  his  sister  knew  next  to 
nothing,  and  lived  a  life  altogether  separated 
from  hers.  But  she  enjoyed  all  his  confidence, 
exulted  in  his  successes,  and  sympathised  pas- 
sionately with  his  troubles. 

Perhaps  she  was  less  impressed  with  his  wisdom 
than  Louis  always  liked;  for  her  rustic  shyness, 
and  ignorance  born  of  utter  inexperience,  made 
him  appear  and  feel  much  older  than  his  twin 
sister.  She  thought  him  careless  and  extravagant, 
as  indeed  he  was,  and  sent  him  little  sermons 
concerning  these  tendencies. 

Sometimes  her  advice  was  more  humorous  than 
practical. 

"  I  am  so  sorry  you  do  not  like  your  C.  O.     He 


OF  GROSVENOR   SQUARE  45 

must  be  horrid.  But  do  try  hard,  my  dearest 
boy,  to  please  him.  For  instance  you  are  so 
quick  and  clever,  could  you  not  get  up  early, 
and  do  all  his  work  for  him  sometimes?  I  feel 
sure  this  would  be  the  way  to  get  on;  and  when 
they  saw  how  much  better  you  did  it  than  he 
could,  surely  they  would  promote  you.  And 
please  do  send  me  your  socks  to  mend,  I  am  sure 
it  would  pay  for  the  postage  to  get  them  properly 
done." 

But  if  Louis  laughed  over  these  and  other 
effusions  from  the  anxious  little  sister,  his  laughter 
was  always  tender. 

Her  only  confidante  and  the  humble  sharer  of 
her  hopes  and  her  fears  for  her  brother  was 
Granny  Morgan,  and  these  letters  were  often 
the  upshot  of  their  consultations. 

"It  is  so  difficult  to  know  how  to  say  enough, 
and  not  too  much, "  she  would  explain  to  the  old 
woman.  "But  it  frightens  me  to  hear  of  these 
subscriptions  and  things  when  he  has  no 
money." 

"  A  word  here  and  a  word  there,  my  deary,  like 
water  dropping  on  a  stone, "  said  Granny  Morgan ; 
"he'll  take  to  counting  his  clothes  when  they 
comes  home  from  the  wash  as  he  grows  older, 
but  the  best  of  men  is  careless  about  such  things. 
Just  mix  up  a  warning-like  in  all  the  news  you 
send  him,  like  a  powder  in  jam,  and  some  of  it 
will  come  home  to  him  when  he  least  expects  it." 


46  THE  LONELY  LADY 

Jeanne  herself  hardly  knew  the  meaning  of 
extravagance  or  self-indulgence. 

She  grew  up  hard-working  and  simple,  red- 
cheeked  and  bright-eyed ;  an  adept  in  bee-keeping 
and  fruit-preserving  and  butter-making;  though, 
being  the  farmer's  niece,  she  naturally  left  the 
milking  of  the  cows  to  the  herdsman;  nor  would 
old  Mrs.  Morgan  permit  her  to  put  her  hand  to 
any  of  the  rougher  work  of  the  house,  but  prided 
herself  on  bringing  up  Jeanne  "like  a  lady"  to 
sew  her  seam,  and  look  after  the  dairy. 

Nevertheless,  Jeanne  had  her  troubles;  for 
though  the  Rector  and  his  wife  were  kind  and 
homely,  she  was  of  little  account  in  their 
eyes  compared  with  their  own  over-indulged 
daughter. 

Cecilia,  in  consequence,  gave  herself  airs,  and 
being  older  and  bolder  than  her  humble  playmate 
constantly  asserted  and  maintained  her  superi- 
ority, until  she  electrified  her  little  world  by 
marrying,  at  eighteen,  a  celebrated  scientist  and 
archaeologist,  who  had  come  to  this  out-of-the- 
way  corner  of  Wales  in  order  to  examine  the 
ruins  for  which  it  was  famous. 

The  professor's  spectacled  middle-aged  eyes 
lit  upon  the  Rector's  daughter,  and  her  apple- 
cheeked,  fair-haired  buxom  comeliness  inclined 
him  to  wed  Cecilia. 

Her  parents  never  dreamt  of  her  accepting  his 
proposal,  but  she  did  so;  and  it  turned  out  that 


OF  GROSVENOR  SQUARE  47 

he  was  rich,  and  she  became  very  superior  and 
prosperous  on  the  spot. 

Thus  she  passed  out  of  Jeanne's  life,  and  very 
nearly  out  of  her  parents'  lives  also,  who  had 
existed  since  her  birth  only  for  her;  and  who 
were  equally  pained  and  bewildered  by  this 
unforeseen  result  of  her  promotion. 

Jeanne,  though  she  had  not  at  the  time  much 
regretted  the  departure  of  Cecilia,  had  certainly 
missed  her,  since  a  fitful  semblance  of  friendship 
had  been  kept  up  between  them  to  the  last. 
For  a  few  months  after  the  wedding,  a  desultory 
correspondence  was  maintained;  then  Mrs.  Hogg- 
Watson  became  too  busy  or  too  magnificent  to 
write  any  more  to  her  humble  friend  at  Coed-Ithel 
farm. 

"I  think  the  child  is  honest,  Dunham." 

"I  am  sure  of  it,  ma'am." 

"Her  eyes  remind  me  of  Clumber — you  re- 
member Clumber?  " 

"Yes  'm, "  said  Dunham,  with  an  inflection  of 
disapproval,  "but  I  would  be  sorry  to  compare 
a  Christian  to  a  dog  'm." 

"Nevertheless  she  has  the  same  brown,  faithful 
eyes  as  my  dear  old  spaniel." 

Dunham  permitted  herself  a  slight  sniff. 

"And  though  she  appears  self -engrossed,  as 
all  young  people  do,  she  is  not  really  thinking  of 
herself  at  all,  but  of  her  brother.  She  is  on  the 


48  THE  LONELY  LADY 

watch,  as  Clumber  used  to  be  for  me;  jealously 
guarding  him  all  the  while,  though  he  is  so  far 
away.  My  heart  went  out  to  her,  Dunham,  for 
she  is  my  own  kith  and  kin  after  all.  She  is  so 
gentle  and  so  faithful.  Not  at  all  the  vulgar 
young  woman  I  had  dreaded." 

"She  's  too  simple  to  be  vulgar,  ma'am,"  said 
Dunham,  shrewdly. 

"She  is  very  rustic  and  timid,  of  course." 

"  So  she  is,  'm.  Almost  afraid  to  eat  and  drink, 
Hewitt  says." 

"I  desire  you  will  not  repeat  the  servants' 
gossip  about  my  grand-niece,  Dunham.  I  am 
very  glad  to  hear  she  has  not  a  gross  appetite. 
It  would  be  lamentable  in  so  young  a  person. 
What  else  does  he  say  of  her?  " 

"I  think,  ma'am,  you'll  tire  yourself  with 
talking  so  much, "  said  Dunham,  stiffly. 

"You  are  taking  advantage  to  bully  me, 
Dunham,  because  you  think  me  too  ill  to  resent 
it,"  said  the  invalid,  querulously. 

"Me  take  advantage — God  forgive  you  for 
saying  so,  Miss  Caroline.  But  you  don't  mean  it, 
and  it 's  time  for  your  mixture." 

A  tear  shone  in  the  old  blue  eyes. 

"  Perhaps  I  am  a  little  tired,  "  said  Miss  Mamey, 
"though  I  waited  several  days  before  sending 
for  her.  I  would  n't  let  her  come  till  I  felt  quite 
myself  again."  Then,  after  a  pause,  "They 
seem  to  have  taken  a  great  care  of  their  French 


OF  GROSVENOR   SQUARE  49 

family  rubbish,   such  as  it  is,   all  these  years, 
Dunham.     They  must  be  worthy  of  trust." 

"  I  'm  one  as  judges  by  small  things,  ma'am, 
and  I  'm  sure  of  it.  She  's  not  so  much  as  thrown 
a  burnt  match  about  since  she 's  been  here.  Never 
a  chair  moved  out  of  its  place  in  the  morning- 
room,  but  it 's  put  back.  And  the  new  ormolu 
fender  has  n't  another  mark  on  it  since  that  day 
the  curate  called  and  balanced  hisself  on  the  edge 
of  it,  all  the  time  he  was  asking  you  for  a 
subscription." 

"Yes.  I  looked  up  the  bill  for  the  fender, 
and  deducted  the  amount  from  the  sum  I  had 
intended  to  give,"  said  Miss  Marney  grimly. 
"I  am  glad  she  is  careful  of  the  furniture.  It 
confirms  my  good  opinion.  Dunham — I  am 
half  thinking  of  sending  for  Mr.  Valentine 
to-morrow." 

"  I  've  no  opinion  of  half -thoughts,  ma'am. 
They  generally  come  to  nothing." 

"You  will  write  him  a  line  to-night,"  said 
Miss  Caroline. 

Jeanne  sat  over  the  fire,  with  the  miniatures 
in  her  lap,  when  Dunham  came  tapping  at  the 
door. 

"A  letter  for  you,  missy,  from  South  Africa. 
I  though  I  would  bring  it  myself,  and  hear  how 
the  young  gentleman  was." 

"  How  very  kind  of  you!"  Jeanne's  eyes  opened 

4 


50  THE  LONELY  LADY 

in  grateful  astonishment  at  this  sudden  accbs  of 
attentiveness. 

"I've  seen  his  photograph,  missy,"  said 
Dunham,  in  subdued  tones,  betraying,  however, 
that  note  of  personal  interest,  which  had  hitherto 
been  entirely  lacking  in  her  brief  converse  with 
Jeanne. 

"Did  Aunt  Marney — I  mean  Aunt  Caroline — 
show  it  to  you?  " 

"Yes,  missy,  she  did." 

"You  have  lived  with  her  a  long,  long  time, 
Mrs.  Dunham,  have  n't  you?  " 

"Yes,  missy.  You  '11  be  wanting  to  look  at 
your  letter." 

Jeanne  opened  it  reluctantly. 

She  preferred  reading  those  sacred  epistles 
from  her  far-away  soldier  in  solitude.  A  page 
at  a  time,  to  eke  out  her  delight. 

But  the  first  glance  at  the  closely  written  sheets 
caused  her  to  utter  an  incredulous  sound  of 
delight  and  surprise. 

"Oh,  Mrs.  Dunham!  His  passage  is  booked. 
He  is  coming  home!  He  will  sail  by  the  Briton 
early  in  January,  or  at  least  he  hopes  he 
will." 

She  forgot  her  desire  for  solitude,  in  the  joy  of 
sharing  the  good  news. 

"I  'm  very  glad,  missy." 

Dunham's  voice  was  troubled. 

"  I  don't  know  if  I  ought  to  take  it  on  myself — 


OF  GROSVENOR  SQUARE  51 

but — if  you  could  send  him  a  cable,  and  ask  him 
to  start  earlier — " 

"Earlier!  But  I  never  expected  him  to  come 
at  all." 

Dunham  hesitated.  Her  small  dim  eyes  peered 
anxiously  out  of  her  wrinkled  face. 

"Your  auntie  would  like  to  see  him." 

"But  she  will  see  him." 

Dunham  shook  her  head  sorrowfully. 

"  I  am  sure  you  are  over  anxious,  Mrs.  Dunham," 
said  Jeanne,  who  now  beheld  all  the  world  through 
rose-coloured  spectacles.  "Indeed,  indeed,  she 
does  not  seem  to  me  so  very  ill." 

Dunham  evaded  the  subject. 

"It  might  make  a  great  difference,  missy,  to 
the  young  gentleman,"  she  urged  beneath  her 
breath. 

"  A  great  difference ! ' '  said  Jeanne.  But  though 
she  was  simple  she  was  not  stupid.  A  light 
broke  in  upon  her. 

"Oh — you  could  not — you  could  not  suppose 
he  would — hurry  home — for  that!"  she  cried  in 
horror. 

It  is  sometimes  difficult  for  the  old  to  fathom 
the  disinterestedness — the  lofty  sentiment — of  the 
very  young ;  but  Dunham  did  not  make  the  mis- 
take of  doubting  Jeanne's  sincerity. 

"He  is  so  like  the  old  Colonel,  Miss  Jane,"  she 
said,  earnestly,  "that  your  auntie  can  think  of 
nothing  else.  When  she  was  n't  talking  to  me, 


52  THE  LONELY  LADY 

she  's  lain  there,  looking  at  the  photograph,  like 
one  in  a  dream.  She  was  terrible  wrapt  up  in  her 
papa,  missy,  and  that  picture  in  the  morning- 
room  is  the  apple  of  her  eye.  It  was  a  thousand 
pities  the  young  gentleman  did  n't  walk  in  to 
see  her  before  he  started  for  the  war." 

"But,  Mrs.  Dunham,  we  did  not  even  knov\ 
where  she  lived.  It  is  more  than  five  and  twenty 
years  ago  that  my  father  broke  with  his  mother's 
people.  They  were  never  in  our  lives  at  all." 

"  I  know,  missy,  and  more  's  the  pity,  for  the 
young  gentleman  is  a  Marney,  every  inch  of  him, 
as  his  auntie  keeps  saying." 

"He  is  a  de  Courset, "  said  Jeanne,  and  her 
cheeks  burnt. 

"Not  in  looks,  Miss  Jane,  as  you  could  not 
deny,  if  you  remembered  your  own  father  as  I 
do, "  said  the  maid  with  asperity. 

"Oh,  Mrs.  Dunham,  do  you  indeed?  Please 
tell  me  about  him, "  cried  Jeanne,  and  she  dropped 
her  dignified  manner  in  haste.  "Uncle  Roberts 
never  speaks  of  him,  he  tells  us  nothing." 

"We  are  told  to  speak  no  ill  of  the  dead,  Miss 
Jane,"  said  Dunham.  "If  your  poor  papa 
did  n't  turn  out  as  steady  a  young  gentleman  as 
his  best  friends  would  have  wished,  why  he  died 
for  his  country,  missy,  as  no  man  can  do  more — 
and  in  the  grave,  as  they  say,  all  is  forgotten. 
I  can't  stop,  for  your  auntie  does  n't  like  me  out 
of  her  sight.  But  if  you  could  only  think  over — 


OP  GROSVENOR  SQUARE  53 

without  a  word  to  your  auntie — about  cabling 
to  Mr.  Louis — "  the  name  came  naturally  to  her 
lips — "  you  need  n't  to  give  him  any  reason,  but 
just  to  say  as  it  was  best  for  him  to  come." 

"  Oh,  Mrs.  Dunham,  Louis  and  I  have  no  secrets 
from  each  other.  Of  course  if  I  cabled  for  him, 
I  must  tell  him  why.  And  though  he  loves  me 
more  than  any  one  else  in  the  whole  world," 
said  Jeanne,  and  her  tone  was  jealously  exultant, 
"and  would  do  what  I  asked  him  if  he  possibly 
could — yet  his  work  comes  first.  A  soldier  must 
think  of  his  duty,  you  know;  and  his  whole 
career,  besides,  depends  on  it.  I  am  perfectly 
certain  he  could  not  get  away  earlier.  All  his 
letters  are  full  of  his  longing  to  get  home.  Just 
think  that  he  has  not  seen  England  for  five  years — 
nor  me — his  only  sister  and  his  twin!  And  you 
can  imagine  that  if  he  could  get  away  a  single 
day  sooner,  he  would  be  only  too  glad  to  do  it." 

"Poor  young  gentleman,  he  must  have  had  a 
hard  time,  but  he  's  got  on  well,  by  all  accounts 
and  been  steady,  missy,  I  hope,"  said  Dunham 
lingering. 

"Steady!  Why  he  has  done  brilliantly!"  cried 
Jeanne,  with  soft  indignation.  She  seized  the 
chance  of  holding  forth  upon  her  brother's 
perfections  the  more  eagerly,  because  she  had  had 
no  listener  for  three  weeks ;  and  also  because,  like 
many  young  people,  she  was  at  this  period  of  her 
life  almost  exclusively  interested  in  her  own 


54  THE  LONELY  LADY 

concerns.  "Just  think  of  him,  Mrs.  Dunham,— 
a  poor  young  lieutenant  in  a  line  regiment,  with 
nothing  but  his  pay;  and  now  he  is  a  captain  at 
five  and  twenty  and  has  the  D.  S.  O.  He  was  n't 
even  very  glad  at  his  promotion — for  so  many 
of  his  regiment  were  killed,  poor  fellows;  and  he 
always  thought — that  was  so  like  Louis, — that 
they  were  better  men  than  he.  He  said  the  best 
always  got  shot — it  was  like  a  fatality.  But  Louis 
came  through  it  all  without  a  scratch.  And  he 
was  mentioned  in  despatches  twice,  Mrs.  Dunham, 
he  was  indeed.  Uncle  Roberts  pretended  not  to 
care,  but  he  cried — he  actually  cried — when  the 
Rector  came  up  with  the  paper.  And  his  Colonel 
wrote  about  him  to  Uncle  Llewellyn — though 
Louis  could  n't  bear  him  when  first  he  joined,  but 
on  active  service  he  said  it  was  all  different. 
And  when  the  war  was  over,  he  got  this  job  at 
Durban  about  the  prisoners  of  war — partly  because 
he  learnt  Dutch  so  quickly  that  he  spoke  it  quite 
well,  and  of  course  it  gave  him  extra  pay;  but  it 
was  all,  all  through  his  own  cleverness,  for  he  has 
no  interest,  Mrs.  Dunham,  none  whatever." 

"  He  's  got  it  in  his  face,  missy, "  said  Dunham, 
in  the  same  subdued  tones.  "  But  still  I  'm  sorry 
very  sorry  I  am,  that  he  could  n't  be  here  for 
your  auntie's  last  Christmas." 

"Does  the  doctor  say  that?"  said  Jeanne, 
startled. 

"  Oh,  missy,   I  go  by  my  own  senses,  that 's 


OF  GROSVENOR  SQUARE  55 

known  her  fifty  years — far  better  than  any 
doctors,"  said  Dunham.  "A  professional  gentle- 
man knows  better  than  to  make  prophecies  and 
risk  being  wrong  after  all.  His  patients  want  to 
be  told  what  they  must  do  to  get  well  again. 
It 's  not  his  business  nor  yet  his  interests  to  tell 
them  that  they  won't  never  get  well — to  bid  them 
give  over  hoping — " 

"  Does  Aunt  Caroline  know?  " 

"Yes,  missy,"  said  Dunham,  solemnly,  "she 
knows  as  well  as  I  do." 


CHAPTER  IV 
THE    FUNERAL 

JEANNE  sat  in  the   London   church   as  one   in  a 
dream. 

Through  the  fog  which  pervaded  the  building, 
the  lights  twinkled  mistily,  and  a  far-away  voice 
pronounced  the  words  of  the  burial  service  so  slow- 
ly, that  her  tired  and  bewildered  brain  could  not 
follow  the  sentences  consecutively. 

Her  attention  fixed  itself  upon  the  coffin, 
heaped  with  flowers,  its  shape  dimly  visible  among 
the  surrounding  bearers;  and  her  mind  was  filled 
with  a  vague  wild  pity  for  the  unconscious  oc- 
cupant, upon  whose  waxen  face  she  had  gazed 
for  the  last  time  on  the  previous  day. 

The  old  servants,  a  small  pathetic  black-clad 
group,  with  bent  shoulders  and  whitened  heads, 
were  together  in  a  pew  on  the  left,  and  the  rest 
of  the  household  a  little  lower  down  the  church. 

But  Jeanne,  on  the  right,  knelt  in  her  pew  alone, 
and  of  other  mourners,  save  the  lawyer  and  the 
doctor,  there  were  none.  How  strange  that  a 
woman  so  wealthy  should  have  so  few  friends, 
thought  little  Jeanne. 

56 


THE  LONELY  LADY  57 

The  tears  fell  fast  upon  her  new  black  crape. 

"Just  as  I  was  beginning  to  love  her,"  she 
thought,  ''and  now  she  will  never  see  Louis 
after  all." 

That  a  thing  so  much  desired  should  not  come 
to  pass  seemed  incredibly  sad  and  astonishing 
to  her. 

If  Jeanne  had  heard  at  Coed-Ithel  of  Miss 
Marney's  death  in  London  at  eighty  years  old, 
and  after  a  succession  of  paralytic  seizures,  it 
would  have  presented  itself  to  her  mind  as  a 
most  likely  and  natural  event.  But  as  it  had 
actually  occurred,  it  seemed  to  her  for  the  moment 
almost  as  though  the  end  of  the  world  had  come ; 
she  could  hardly  even  realise  it  to  be  true. 

During  the  long  days  that  had  elapsed  between 
her  aunt's  death  and  the  funeral,  she  had  gone 
over  and  over  the  past  weeks  incessantly  in  her 
own  mind,  and  lived  through  the  final  tragedy 
a  hundred  times,  always  possessed  by  a  horror  and 
pity  in  proportion  to  her  utter  inexperience. 

She  lay  awake  in  her  isolated  chamber  with 
beating  heart,  hearing  again  and  again  the  flying 
footsteps  in  the  echoing  corridors;  the  hurried 
summons  at  the  door;  the  silver  chiming  of  the 
clock  in  the  silent  chamber  of  death;  the  sound 
of  the  deep,  deep  breathing  that  would  presently 
cease  for  ever. 

But  when  she  recalled  her  third  and  last  inter- 
view with  Miss  Caroline,  she  could  not  but  own 


58  THE  LONELY   LADY 

to  herself  that  her  aunt  had  spoken  then  much 
as  she  might  have  spoken  had  she  expected  to 
live  for  another  hundred  years. 

The  habits  of  a  life-time  do  not  change  in  a 
moment,  even  though  that  moment  be  the  last. 

The  little  growling  dog  was  caressed;  the 
gloved  hand  still  guarded  the  velvet  bag  as 
jealously  as  though  Miss  Caroline  meant  to  take 
it  with  her  on  her  long  journey.  She  was  still 
anxious  to  impress  upon  Jeanne  the  importance 
of  the  Marneys  of  Orsett,  and  the  comparative 
insignificance  of  the  de  Coursets ;  she  referred  to 
the  advantages  of  exclusiveness ;  and  emphasised 
the  necessity  for  taking  care  of  the  furniture  and 
the  pictures. 

Was  it  possible  she  could  be  so  near  Eternity 
and  her  mind  yet  fixed  so  firmly  on  things  which 
would  presently  for  her,  have  no  existence  at  all? 

No  more  sincere  and  pitiful  mourner  than  little 
Jeanne  could  have  knelt  by  that  deathbed  of 
her  old  relation,  and  yet  the  emotion  which 
possessed  her  was  but  the  shadow  of  sorrow, 
and  not  sorrow  itself,  though  it  held  much  of 
regret. 

Very  strongly  she  felt  that  she  might  have 
loved  Miss  Caroline  had  she  known  her  a  little 
better.  An  instinctive  sympathy  had  immedi- 
ately manifested  itself  between  her  and  her  aunt. 

But  it  had  come  too  late.  Miss  Marney  had 
passed  the  last  years  of  her  long  life  in  solitude, 


OF  GROSVENOR  SQUARE  59 

whilst  Jeanne, — not  much  less  lonely  than  her 
aunt,  since  she  had  lost  the  companionship  of 
Louis — would  so  gladly  have  borne  her  company, 
and  given  her  the  affection  of  a  dutiful  and 
gentle  child. 

Dunham,  jealously  watching  her  poor  lady's 
great-niece,  though  convinced  of  her  sincerity, 
was  touched  by  the  anxiety  Jeanne  manifested 
to  learn  what  her  aunt's  wishes  had  been,  that 
she  might  be  certain  of  acting  in  accordance  with 
them  throughout  those  dismal  days. 

"The  directions  for  her  funeral  was  all  written 
long  ago,  ma'am,"  said  Dunham,  whose  respect 
for  Jeanne  increased  now  that  she  beheld  in  her 
the  sole  representative  present  of  the  family  she 
had  served  so  long.  "She  is  to  be  laid  by  the 
side  of  poor  Mr.  Philip,  ma'am,  in  the  family 
vault.  No  'm,  she  would  not  have  liked  you  to 
travel  down  with  it.  She  had  very  fixed  ideas 
about  what  ladies  were  able  to  do.  Mr.  Valentine 
and  the  doctor  will  go.  And  there  '11  be  some  of 
the  old  people  left  down  there.  They  '11  be 
present,  ma'am,  you  may  depend.  You  will  go 
to  the  church  Miss  Jane ;  and  she  was  particular 
as  it  should  be  the  one  she  last  attended.  She 
was  always  chopping  and  changing,  poor  dear, 
according  as  the  services  went  up  or  down — or 
did  n't  suit  her  fancy  one  way  and  another. 
You  '11  go  to  the  church  with  the  rest  of  us,  and 
then  there  's  nothing  more  to  be  done,  ma'am,  but 


60  THE  LONELY  LADY 

to   wait   till   Mr.   Valentine,   the   lawyer,    comes 
and  tells  you  what  's  been  settled." 

So  the  sad  procession  wended  its  way  from  the 
church  to  the  station,  and  the  men  went  with  it; 
but  Jeanne,  with  Dunham  and  Mrs.  Pyke,  in 
attendance,  returned  to  the  desolate  house  in 
Grosvenor  Square,  where  she  strove  to  fill  the 
remaining  hours  of  the  day  by  writing  a  long  letter 
to  her  brother. 

"Oh,  Louis,  it  is  so  dreadful.  The  great  house 
was  silent  enough  before,  but  now  that  she  is  really 
gone,  it  seems  a  thousand  times  more  empty  still. 
Reason  as  one  may,  how  cruel  it  feels  to  take  her 
out  of  her  beautiful  luxurious  room,  away  from  all 
the  comforts  that  have  always  surrounded  her  poor 
body;  away  from  all  the  familiar  things  she  has  trea- 
sured so  long — and  just  lay  her  in  a  cold  stone  vault. 

"I  know  it  has  to  come  to  everybody,  but  it  is 
freshly  awful  when  it  comes  home  to  oneself  like  this; 
but  you  have  seen  death  so  often  and  so  close,  poor 
boy,  that  you  will  hardly  understand  my  feeling. 
I  say  to  myself — but  what  is  one  old  old  woman, 
whose  life  was  finished,  to  all  the  young  lives  that 
have  been  cut  short  in  the  South  African  War. 
And  yet,  perhaps  because  I  am  alone,  and  you  so  far 
away — perhaps  because  this  house  and  every  one 
in  it  is  still  so  strange  to  me — /  cannot  get  over  the 
horror  of  it,  nor  the  remembrance  of  it — and  am  so 
cowardly  and  afraid  at  night — 


OF  GROSVENOR  SQUARE  61 

"/  try  to  remember  all  she  said  that  last  morning 
when  I  saw  her  by  daylight  for  the  first  time,  and 
realised  that  she  was  really  very  ill. 

"  I  am  glad  to  recollect  she  said  she  was  pleased  I 
had  come,  and  that  she  wished  it  had  been  earlier; 
but  I  cant  say  she  was  at  all  like  what  I  expected  a 
dying  person  to  be,  even  then. 

"  She  said  Providence  played  odd  tricks,  in  rather 
a  complaining  way,  not  at  all  as  though  it  were  in 
any  way  her  own  doing,  poor  dear,  not  to  have  sent 
for  me  earlier. 

"  She  spoke  of  you  and  asked  about  your  career 
and  praised  you  for  having  done  so  well  though 
brought  up  in  an  out-of-the-way  farm,  with  nothing 
to  inspire  you  but  your  own  ambition;  and  said 
how  it  proved  that  blood  will  always  tell  (but  she 
meant  the  blood  of  the  Marneys  and  not  of  the 
de  C  our  sets  all  the  time).  She  hoped  you  were 
very  particular  what  company  you  kept,  she  said, 
and  it  was  bad  company  which  led  thoughtless 
young  men  astray,  and  oh,  I  am  afraid  she  was 
thinking  of  poor  papa;  but  you  would  never  never 
be  led  astray  would  you,  Louis,  or  fall  into  the 
evil  ways  she  spoke  of?  I  told  her  again  and  again 
that  you  had  never  done  anything  in  your  life  that 
you  ought  not  to  do — and  that  at  the  worst  you  were 
only  a  little — a  very  little  extravagant  in  giving 
presents  and  things  you  could  not  afford.  I 
think  I  comforted  her,  and  she  said  extravagance 
did  n't  matter,  but  oh  Louis,  that  is  only  because  she 


62  THE  LONELY  LADY 

is  so  rich,  she  does  n't  know  what  poverty  means;  so 
don't  let  it  lead  you  away, — to  hear  she  thinks  so 
little  of  it. 

"About  me,  she  said  she  was  glad  to  see  I  was 
so  very  exclusive;  which  is  I  think  her  polite  way 
of  noticing  that  I  have  no  friends  at  all.  And 
she  liked  to  think  of  me  in  the  morning-room,  because 
Dunham  told  her  how  very  careful  I  was  of  the 
furniture  (I  should  hope  so,  you  have  no  idea  how 
beautiful  it  is}.  Again  and  again  she  begged  me 
to  take  care  of  her  things  (as  though  I  were  going 
to  live  here  all  my  life)  as  it  was  a  mistake  to 
trust  the  best  of  servants;  and  that  she  liked 
to  know  I  had  a  brother  so  devoted  to  me  as  her's 
had  always  been  to  her,  and  that  history  repeated 
itself. 

"  Well,  then,  Dunham  came  in  and  said  Mr. 
Valentine  had  called,  and  Aunt  Caroline  said  he 
was  to  come  up  at  once  to  her  room.  I  thought 
she  seemed  a  little  depressed,  so  I  foolishly  said 
how  glad  I  was  she  had  a  visitor,  and  I  hoped  it 
would  cheer  her  a  little;  she  quite  drew  her  head 
up  on  the  pillow,  and  said  solicitors  were  not  visitors* 
and  that  he  had  come  on  business.  'Professional 
callers,  even  though  they  be  gentlemen,  my  dear 
Jane,  do  not  count.  But  of  course  you  could  not 
know  that,  my  love.1 

"I  went  away  directly  he  came  in,  but  I  thought 
he  looked  a  kind  old  man.  Mrs.  Dunham  says 
he  and  his  father  and  grandfather  have  been  the 


OF  GROSVENOR  SQUARE  63 

Marney's  solicitors  for  three  generations,  and  have 
always  known  all  their  affairs. 

"  When  I  think  over  that  last  interview,  all  we 
said  seems  rather  meaningless  and  trivial.  If  I 
had  known  she  was  going  I  would  have  liked  just 
to  thank  her  for  sending  for  me;  and  to  tell  her 
I  was  very  proud  to  belong  to  her,  for  she  was  an 
ideal  old  lady  to  look  at,  and  you  would  have  been 
proud  of  her  too.  Besides  I  might  have  told  her 
that  we  would  both  remember  her  loyally  always, 
and  other  things  which  would  have  pleased  and 
comforted  her  and  yet  been  quite  quite  true. 

"But,  no,  instead  of  all  this  I  sat  still  and  was 
more  anxious  to  talk  about  you  than  to  listen  to 
the  last  words  she  was  ever  going  to  say  to  me  in 
this  world. 

"During  those  long  hours  when  we  were  all 
waiting  through  the  night;  waiting — oh  how  dreadful 
— through  the  night — for  her  to  die — she  spoke  only 
twice,  almost  as  though  in  her  sleep.  Once  she 
said  '  The  horse-chestnuts  are  coming  out  in  the 
avenue. '  I  felt  that  her  spirit  was  a  long  way  off 
in  the  past,  back  at  Orsett,  in  the  country,  the  spring- 
time and  the  sunshine. 

"  The  next  time  it  would  have  been  funny  if  it 
had  not  been  so  terribly  pathetic,  for  she  said  half 
crying,  'Mary  Ann  is  very  cross.  She  won't  let 
me  go  to  the  fair, '  so  then  she  must  have  been  a  little 
girl  again.  I  hope  she  died  like  that,  and  did  not 
go  away  in  the  dark  thinking  of  herself  as  an  old 


64  THE  LONELY  LADY 

woman  with  nobody  but  Mrs.  Dunham  and  Mrs. 
Pyke  left  behind  to  be  sorry  for  her. 

"  Your  photo  was  under  her  pillow,  so  I  have  got 
it  back  again  at  last.  I  wish  I  had  n't  grudged  it 
to  her  so  much. 

It  was  all  like  a  dream  afterwards.  I  shook 
hands  with  one  or  two  people,  but  I  scarcely  know 
who  they  were.  One  was  the  doctor  but  neither 
he  nor  the  parson  seemed  to  know  her  at  all  well. 
Mrs.  Dunham  said  she  did  n't  believe  in  doctors, 
and  changed  her  church  very  often.  The  poor 
curate  evidently  did  not  know  exactly  what  to  say, 
but  I  suppose  he  thought  he  ought  to  try  and  comfort 
me,  so  he  said  'God  be  wil  ye,'  instead  of  good-bye, 
in  a  hollow  voice;  and  squeezed  my  hand  so  viciously 
that  my  ring  cut  into  my  finger.  I  was  horrified 
with  myself  for  feeling  more  inclined  to  laugh  than 
to  cry,  when  I  am  sure  he  meant  so  kindly;  but  when 
he  asked  if  I  was  staying  on  I  explained  I  should 
be  going  back  to  Coed-Ithel  in  a  few  days,  so  I 
don't  think  he  '//  come  again.  I  wrote  to  Uncle 
Roberts  and  told  him,  when  it  was  all  over,  and  he 
sent  a  post-card  to  say  it  was  the  decree  of  Providence 
and  what  we  must  all  come  to.  But  he  evidently 
had  no  idea  of  coming  up  for  the  funeral  as  the 
doctor  thought  he  'might,  and  as  I  was  sure  he 
would  n't.  .  . 

"/  am  writing  this  in  the  morning-room;  and  I 
will  finish  it  to-morrow  when  I  have  seen  Mr. 
Valentine" 


CHAPTER  V 
THE  WILL 

A  GLEAM  of  wintry  sunshine  stole  in  through  the 
lace-shrouded  windows,  and  turned  the  green 
damask  walls  of  the  morning-room  to  gold;  and 
brightened  the  flowered  chintz  on  the  couch; 
and  shone  through  the  ragged  petals  of  the  giant 
lemon-tinted  and  copper-hued  chrysanthemums, 
and  upon  the  fresh  dark  violets,  in  their  silver 
bowl. 

Before  an  old  French  bureau,  Mr.  Valentine 
sat,  with  crossed  knees,  and  folded  hands,  ex- 
plaining the  late  Miss  Marney's  wishes  to  her 
grand-niece. 

He  was  not  at  all  like  Jeanne's  preconceived 
notion  of  a  family  solicitor ;  being  neither  dried  up 
nor  severe,  but  on  the  contrary,  a  very  pleasant, 
cheerful,  grey-headed  old  gentleman;  with  an 
expression  which,  subdue  it  as  he  would,  was 
jovial  in  the  extreme. 

"This  will  was  executed  somewhat  hurriedly," 

he  said,  "but  it  is,  of  course,  quite  in  order;  and 

I  am  heartily  glad,  if  you  will  allow  me  to  say 

so,  to  have  been  enabled,  even  at  the  last  moment, 

&  6s 


66  THE  LONELY  LADY 

to  assist  poor  Miss  Marney  to  do  justice  to  her 
only  surviving  relatives.  I  am  afraid  the  charities 
would  be  somewhat  annoyed  with  me  if  they 
knew  what  they  had  lost.  Happily,  they  never 
will,  since  she  destroyed  her  former  testament." 
Here  he  showed  a  faint  inclination  to  chuckle, 
but  was  restored  instantly  to  professional  gravity 
by  the  alarm  on  Jeanne's  expressive  face. 

"You  don't  mean  it  is  depriving  any  one " 

"Certainly  not.  Good  heavens,  no,  my  dear 
young  lady, "  said  the  lawyer,  wishing  he  had  been 
less  frank.  "Pray  dismiss  any  such  idea  from 
your  mind.  Your  brother  is  actually  poor  Miss 
Marney's  next  of  kin :  he  has  every  possible  natural 
and  legal  right  to  inherit  her  money.  If  there  is 
anything  to  be  said  in  the  matter,  it  is  on  your 
own  account.  You  have  an  equal  claim  upon 
your  great-aunt,  with  your  brother,  and  she  has 
ignored  you  altogether." 

"Mr.  Valentine,"  said  Jeanne,  very  earnestly, 
"I  promise  you  faithfully  that  I  would  much 
rather  it  all  belonged  to  Louis.  What  is  his  is 
mine,  and  what  is  mine  is  his.  It  is  really  exactly 
the  same  thing.  If  you  knew  him — "  her  pause 
was  more  eloquent  than  the  most  fervent  praise — 
"you  would  understand." 

"I  hope  I  may  know  him  very  soon  indeed," 
said  Mr.  Valentine.  The  twinkling  eyes  beneath 
grey  brows  bent  a  kind  gaze  upon  Jeanne,  and 
she  looked  up  at  him  with  sincere  veneration. 


OF  GROSVENOR  SQUARE  67 

"Your  brother  is  of  age,  I  believe?" 

"He  is  twenty-five, — and  he  is  a  captain 
already,"  said  Jeanne,  trembling  with  anxiety  to 
recapitulate  her  brother's  extraordinary  achieve- 
ments. "He  has  been  very  lucky.  He  saw 
some  service  on  the  Indian  Frontier,  and  he  has 
been  through  the  South  African  War  without  a 
scratch.  Twice  he  was  mentioned  in  despatches; 
and  they  have  given  him  a  job  at  Durban,  which 
he  says  will  be  a  most  good  thing  for  his  career, 
simply  because  he  leamt  Dutch  so  well;  or  on 
his  own  merits,  for  he  has  no  interest,  Mr.  Valen- 
tine, none  whatever.  Unless  perhaps  they  remem- 
bered that  his  father  and  his  grandfather  were 
both  killed  in  action,  one  at  Sevastopol,  and  one 
in  Afghanistan." 

"  Most  creditable,  I  'm  sure, "  said  Mr.  Valentine, 
encouragingly,  as  she  paused  for  breath. 

"  But  I  have  n't  seen  him  for  five  years,  though 
I  am  his  twin-sister,"  she  said,  rather  mourn- 
fully. 

"  Do  you  mean  to  say  you  are  five  and  twenty?" 

"I  am  always  taken  for  younger.  It  is  an- 
noying," she  said,  abashed  by  his  genuine 
astonishment. 

Mr.  Valentine  looked  at  the  round,  childish, 
wistful  face,  with  its  bright  eyes,  and  red  bloom 
of  health,  and  smiled.  He  would  have  laughed, 
but  for  the  solemnity  of  the  occasion. 

"  Most  people  would  be  anything  but  annoyed. 


68  THE  LONELY  LADY 

I  am  afraid  you  would  not  be  particularly  surprised 
if  I  told  you  I  was  sixty-five." 

"No,  I  should  not,"  said  honest  Jeanne,  very 
simply. 

"And  yet  I  am  only  fifty-eight,"  said  Mr. 
Valentine,  rather  ruefully.  "But,  however,  to 
return  to  business — I  must  apologise  for  all 
my  elaborate  explanations,  but  you  see  I  had 
fancied  myself  talking  to  a  young  lady  just  out 
of  the  schoolroom." 

"The  explanation  made  everything  clear, "  said 
Jeanne,  "  and  I  do  not  suppose  I  know  much  more 
of  these  things  than  a  young  lady  just  out  of 
the  schoolroom  would ;  for  I  have  no  experience 
at  all,  as  Louis  says,  I  have  just  lived  all  my 
life  in  the  same  place, — a  very  lonely  place, 
in  the  country,  with  my  uncle,  who  is  a 
farmer." 

"Then  may  I  be  permitted  to  ask  what  you 
will  do  now?" 

"If  this  house  belongs  to  Louis — but  indeed  it 
seems  hardly  to  be  believed " 

"  It  is  undoubtedly  your  brother's  house." 

"  Then  I  must  stay  here  till  he  conies  home,  and 
take  care  of  it  for  him,"  said  Jeanne,  decidedly. 
"Aunt  Caroline  said  it  was  very  wrong  to  leave 
even  the  best  of  servants  to  look  after  valuable 
pictures  and  furniture  alone." 

"  I  am  quite  sure  you  are  right.  But  I  fear  you 
will  have  a  lonely  Christmas  unless — but  no 


OF  GROSVENOR  SQUARE  69 

doubt  you  will  persuade  some  friend  to  come  and 
be  with  you." 

She  shook  her  head. 

"  No,  there  is  nobody.  But  I  shall  be  thinking 
of  Louis,  you  know,  and  his  coming  home  so  soon." 
She  put  her  hand  to  her  brow,  which  ached  from 
the  emotion  of  the  previous  day,  and  added  with 
a  bewildered  look : 

"I  hope  it  is  not — not  heartless — but — but 
does  n't  it  all  mean  that  Louis  will  be  very 
rich." 

"He  will  be  a  very  rich  man  indeed,"  said 
Mr.  Valentine,  gently. 

Jeanne  sat  for  a  moment  in  silence;  her  heart 
throbbed. 

She  thought  of  Louis  struggling  to  live  on  his 
pay;  of  the  little  presents  he  had  sent  her  home 
which  he  could  so  ill  afford,  and  which  made  her 
cry  and  laugh  over  his  loving  and  foolish  extrava- 
gance; of  the  letters  she  had  written  to  beseech 
him  to  be  just  before  he  was  generous,  which  was 
exactly  what  Louis  could  never  be,  and  had 
never  been;  of  the  many,  many  things  he  had 
wanted,  and  which  she  had  implored  him  to  do 
without,  and  wept  because  she  could  not  send 
them  and  because  Uncle  Roberts,  for  all  his 
substantial  goodness,  was  not  a  man  to  be  asked 
for  money. 

The  tears  dropped  once  more  from  her  brown 
eyes,  and  she  just  breathed  the  words,  "I  wish 


70  THE  LONELY  LADY 

I  could  have  thanked  Aunt  Caroline,"  as  she 
wiped  them  away. 

"You  are  quite,  quite  sure  that  it  is  all  right, 
and  that  there  can  be  no  mistake  ?  It  would  be 
so  cruel  to  raise  his  hopes,  and  then  find,  after 
all,  there  was  nothing.  Would  it  not  be  safer 
to  make  quite  certain  before  we  say  anything 
about  it  to  him?" 

"It  is  all  quite  right,  and  safe  as  the  Bank  of 
England,"  said  Mr.  Valentine,  soothingly.  "  Every- 
thing Miss  Marney  has  in  the  world  is  left 
unconditionally  to  your  brother.  He  and  I  are 
joint  executors,  and  we  are  directed  to  divide 
a  certain  sum  among  the  old  servants.  That  is 
literally  all." 

"The  picture — the  Romney — this  room — act- 
ually belongs  to  Louis.  I  beg  your  pardon, 
Mr.  Valentine,  but  the  more  I  think  of  it,  the  less 
I  can  believe  it." 

"You  will  get  used  to  the  idea,"  said  Mr. 
Valentine.  "Now  if  you  will  give  me  your 
brother's  address,  we  will  write  to  him  at  once." 

Jeanne  dictated  the  address,  and  watched  him 
write  it  down. 

"Pray  understand,"  he  said,  as  he  did  so, 
"  that  I  am  at  your  service  in  every  possible  way, 
until  your  brother  comes  home.  I  hope  you 
will  refer  any  matter  of  business  connected  with 
this  sad  event — directly  to  myself." 

"  I  shall  be  very  thankful,  for  I  know  nothing 


OF  GROSVENOR  SQUARE  71 

of  business,"  said  Jeanne,  timidly.  "I  suppose 
everything  can  go  on  here  as  usual?  I  am  sure 
Aunt  Caroline  would  not  have  liked  any  changes 
and  Louis  would  want  to  respect  her  wishes, 
I  know." 

"Your  brother  is  coming  home  so  soon  that  I 
should  certainly  advise  no  changes  until  his 
return,"  said  Mr.  Valentine.  "If  any  difficulty 
arises  in  the  matter  of  immediate  expenses — 
we  shall  be  only  too  happy  to — 

"Oh,  there  can  be  none,"  said  Jeanne,  and  her 
eyes  filled  with  tears,  "for  poor  Aunt  Caroline 
kept  a  large  sum  of  ready  money  in  her  velvet 
bag,  always  by  her  side.  Mrs.  Dunham  was  so 
upset  trying  to  get  it  away  from  the  little  dog. 
He  would  not  let  it  go,  but  she  said  Aunt  Caroline 
had  desired  her  to  give  it  to  me,  and  she  counted 
the  notes  for  me,  and  wrote  down  the  numbers. 
She  said  an  account  must  be  kept  of  them.  There 
were  six  twenty-five  pound  notes,  and  Aunt 
Caroline  gave  me  two  the  other  day." 

"  It  will  certainly  not  be  necessary  to  keep  an 
account  of  your  aunt's  presents  to  yourself, "  said 
Mr.  Valentine,  courteously,  "and  I  am  afraid 
you  would  not  find  that  a  hundred  and  fifty 
pounds  would  go  very  far  towards  maintaining 
this  great  house.  The  expenses  will  of  course  be 
defrayed  from  the  estate.  You  must  not  think 
of  infringing  on  your  aunt's  small  gift.  I  am 
sure  your  brother  would  not  wish  it;  the  more 


72  THE  LONELY  LADY 

especially  since  he  certainly  owes  his  inheritance 
indirectly  to  you,  for  poor  Miss  Marney  made 
no  secret  of  the  fact  that  her  acquaintance  with 
you  inspired  her  to  make  this  very  satisfactory 
change  in  the  disposition  of  her  property.  Now 
we  are  agreed  that  everything  should  continue 
as  usual  here  until  Captain  de  Courset's  return, 
or  until  we  receive  instructions  from  him  to  the 
contrary.  We  will  ask  him  to  cable  his  wishes  on 
receipt  of  our  communication." 

"I  know  very  well  what  his  wishes  will  be," 
said  Jeanne.  Happiness  dawned  once  more  in 
her  shy  brown  eyes  at  the  thought  of  her  brother's 
return;  and  his  return  to  such  amazing  and  un- 
expected prosperity. 

"  I  cannot  realise  what  it  will  be  like  to  see  him 
again  after  all  these  years.  First  India — then 
this  long,  long  South  African  time.  And  now  in 
a  few  weeks  he  will  be  with  me  again.  I  am  ex- 
pecting a  telegram  directly  he  knows  for  cer- 
tain which  ship  he  will  sail  by.  Oh,  I  won- 
der, I  wonder — if  he  will  have  changed  very 
much." 

Mr.  Valentine  was  very  kind  and  sympathetic, 
and  had  every  desire  to  please  his  new  client — 
or  his  new  client's  sister;  but  he  was  a  busy  man, 
and  the  Christmas  holidays  were  fast  approaching ; 
wherefore  he  did  not  invite  Jeanne  to  return  to 
the  discussion  of  her  brother's  personality  or  his 
adventures,  but  after  a  repetition  of  the  subdued 


OF  GROSVENOR  SQUARE  73 

congratulations  proper  to  the  occasion,  shook 
hands  with  her,  and  bowed  himself  out. 

Jeanne,  left  alone,  looked  round  the  warm, 
luxurious  room:  at  the  little  table,  covered  with 
trifles  become  pathetic  through  the  death  of  their 
owner ;  the  silver-handled  loop  that  the  dead  wo- 
man had  used  for  reading  the  newspapers;  the 
gold-topped  flask  of  scent,  the  cut  glass  bottle 
of  salts;  the  turquoise-studded  bonbonnibre  and 
tortoise-shell  paper-knife;  all  of  which  had  been 
restored  to  their  original  places  by  the  careful 
Dunham,  when  they  were  no  longer  needed  in 
the  sick-room.  An  immense  fire  glowed  on  the 
hearth ;  the  air  was  pervaded  by  the  sweet  breath 
of  the  scented  violets. 

The  young  life  in  her  heart  beat  more  strongly 
for  the  rebound  from  its  mournful  contact  with 
death.  She  had  not  seen  the  sunshine  for  so  long. 

Suddenly  Jeanne  fell  on  her  knees  beside  the 
violets,  and  cried  out,  almost  involuntarily,  "  Oh, 
thank  you,  thank  you,  thank  you";  to  relieve  her 
overcharged  heart,  and  without  any  very  clear  idea 
as  to  whether  she  were  addressing  the  Almighty  or 
poor  Miss  Caroline. 

Was  Louis  to  be  delivered  from  his  stress  of 
poverty,  and  gain  his  heart's  desire — the  means 
which  would  enable  him  to  rise  to  any  position 
he  chose — given  his  industry  and  talents,  and 
all  his  personal  advantages  to  supplement  his 
wealth?  To  restore,  perhaps,  the  ancient  dignity 


74  THE  LONELY  LADY 

of  his  family,  and  fulfil  their  childish  dreams? 
And  all  this  through  the  unconscious  agency  of 
his  humble,  ignorant,  devoted  sister.  This  was 
the  mouse  aiding  the  lion  indeed.  Her  heart 
swelled  at  the  proud  thought. 

"  But  it  wasn't  really  me,"  thought  little  Jeanne, 
"whatever  the  lawyer  may  suppose.  It  was 
the  photograph — it  was  his  dear  face  which  made 
her  feel  she  must  do  Louis  justice,  far  more  than 
any  words  of  mine.  It  was  the  likeness  to  you, 
Colonel  Harry,"  and  she  looked  up  at  the  hand- 
some disdainful  face  of  Harry  Marney,  whose 
boyhood,  perpetuated  by  a  master  hand,  was  as 
fresh  to-day,  as  it  had  been  a  hundred  years  since. 

"Oh,  thank  you,  thank  you,  thank  you," 
murmured  Jeanne,  and  she  dropped  her  face  into 
her  hands  for  a  moment,  in  a  silent  passion  of 
gratitude, — before  rising  from  her  knees. 

How  bright  the  room  looked!  Poor  Aunt  Caro- 
line! And  heartless  cheerful  lady's  bower  which 
the  dead  brain  had  planned,  and  the  dead  hand 
created,  and  filled,  however  incongruously,  with 
beautiful  and  pleasant  things. 

Those  long  weeks  of  absolute  solitude  had 
brought  the  lonely  lady  into  an  almost  unnatural 
relation  with  inanimate  things. 

The  furniture,  the  pictures,  and  the  flowers, 
seemed  not  to  be  soulless,  but  eloquent  witnesses 
of  past  sadness;  and  now,  with  herself,  eagerly 
expectant  of  joy  to  come. 


OF  GROSVENOR  SQUARE  75 

She  went  round,  softly  touching  one  thing 
and  another.  The  strangeness  of  the  house  had 
vanished,  and  only  its  beauty  remained.  It  was 
Louis's  house. 

She  might  ask  for  the  keys  of  the  locked  Chip- 
pendale book-cases  when  she  would.  They  were 
Louis's  books. 

The  treasures  she  had  feared  to  touch — were 
they  not  almost  her  own,  since  they  belonged 
to  Louis? 

It  was  no  longer  even  so  much  Miss  Caroline's 
father  who  looked  sternly  forth  from  his  golden 
frame  above  the  glowing  hearth ;  but  Louis's  great- 
grandfather watching  over  his  descendant's  law- 
ful inheritance. 

In  three  weeks, — three  little  weeks — Louis 
would  come  to  his  own! 

His  bedroom  must  be  chosen.  How  the  plenish- 
ing of  it  would  help  to  pass  the  time. 

Already  one  half  of  Miss  Marney's  original 
gift  of  bank-notes  to  her  niece  had  travelled  to 
South  Africa.  It  would  be  a  great  sum  to  Louis : 
almost  as  great  and  wonderful  a  windfall  as  it 
had  been  to  Jeanne,  the  prudent  little  sister  who 
had  after  anxious  reflection  decided  to  send  only 
the  one  note  to  her  brother,  and  to  say  nothing 
of  the  other,  but  reserve  it  for  emergencies. 

Now  no  such  emergencies  need  be  feared.  The 
five  and  twenty  pounds  could  be  spent  upon  the 
preparations  she  would  make  for  her  hero's  return. 


76  THE  LONELY  LADY 

She  wondered  whether  Mrs.  Dunham  would 
think  it  heartless  if  she  rang  the  bell,  and  asked 
for  her  advice  in  choosing  her  brother's  room  now. 
She  thought  not,  for  Dunham  had  already,  and 
with  a  ring  of  sad  exultation  in  her  grief-subdued 
voice,  referred  to  the  home-coming  of  the  young 
gentleman. 

Miss  Caroline  had  had  few  secrets  from  her 
faithful  waiting- woman,  and  the  contents  of 
the  will,  which  had  surprised  Jeanne  so  much, 
had  been  perfectly  well  known  to  Dunham,  though 
she  had  discreetly  held  her  peace  upon  the  subject. 

As  Jeanne  hesitated,  with  her  hand  on  the  bell, 
Hewitt  entered  with  a  telegram  upon  a  salver. 

He  presented  it  to  his  young  lady  with  the  air 
of  increased  respect  which  all  the  household  had 
exhibited,  since  the  death  of  their  late  mistress. 

Jeanne  took  it  eagerly.  Her  heart  was  so  full 
that  she  was  inclined  to  be  communicative  even 
with  the  monumental  butler. 

The  receipt  of  a  telegram,  besides,  was  not  an 
every-day  occurrence  with  her,  but  a  rare  and 
exciting  event. 

"Oh,  thank  you,  Hewitt.  I  expect  it  is — 
from  my  brother,"  she  said,  breathlessly  opening 
it — "to  tell  me  the  ship  by  which  he  is  to  come 
home " 

Her  voice  died  away  as  she  read  the  telegram^ 
once  uncomprehendingly,  and  the  second  time 
with  a  full  realisation  of  its  purport. 


OF  GROSVENOR  SQUARE  77 

The  brighteness  faded  from  her  eyes,  and  the 
red  colour  from  her  cheeks;  for  these  were  the 
words  of  the  message  Louis  had  sent, 

"Ordered  Somaliland,  embark  Durban  seventh 
January." 


CHAPTER   VI 
THE  NURSERIES 

"  — if  glory  leads  the  way 
You  '11  be  madly  rushing  on 
Never  thinking  if  they  kill  you 
That  my  happiness  is  gone!  " 

"Goo  has  been  very  good  to  me,"  wrote  Louis 
from  Durban,  in  the  first  letter  Jeanne  received 
from  him,  concerning  the  Somaliland  campaign. 
"Why  should  this  good  luck  come  to  me,  when 
every  fellow  out  here  would  give  anything  to  go? 
.  .  .  We  ought  to  reach  Obbia  in  about  ten  days.  .  . 
The  general  impression  here  seems  to  be  that  it  will 
be  only  a  preliminary  campaign  to  make  ready  for 
larger  operations  next  cold  weather.  It  won't 
delay  my  return  home  for  very  long,  so  make  the 
best  of  it,  my  darling  little  Jeannie.  My  best  chum 
is  so  disgusted  with  what  he  calls  my  everlasting 
luck,  that  he  won't  speak  to  me.  It 's  all  the  harder 
for  him,  poor  old  fellow,  because  he  applied  and  I 
did  n't,  not  dreaming  I  should  have  the  ghost  of  a 
chance.  .  .  .  I  walked  into  a  photographer's,  and  had 
my  old  phiz,  done  to  please  you" — (That  is  so  like 

78 


THE  LONELY  LADY  79 

Louis,  to  try  to  make  it  up  to  me  some  other 
way,"  thought  Jeanne) — "and  there  is  another 
thing  I  hate  writing  about,  but  I  must,  and  you 
would  rather  I  did,  so  here  goes. 

"In  case  anything  happens  to  me,  write  at  once 
to  my  bankers;  they  have  my  will  and  life  assur- 
ance policy.  I  forget  if  I  told  you  I  managed 
to  insure  my  life  when  I  first  joined.  It  is  for 
;£iooo,  which  will  easily  clear  my  debts,  buy  a 
good  horse  for  Uncle  Roberts,  and  leave  something 
over  for  you.  Also  they  have  a  letter  for  you, 
which  I  wrote  a  long  time  ago,  but  I  hope  that  you 
may  never  have  to  apply  for  the  same,  my  Jeannie 
dear,  but  that  I  shall  soon  be  home  to  throw  it  into 
the  fire  and  laugh  over  it,  and  tell  you  the  contents  by 
word  of  mouth.  .  .  .  The  only  thing  I  feel  guilty 
towards  you  is  in  starting  for  Somaliland  when  I 
was  due  and  had  promised  to  come  home.  These 
are  the  occasions  when  you  wish  I  was  not  a  soldier" 
("No,  never,"  said  Jeanne)  "but  they  are  the  only 
occasions  on  which  a  soldier  has  a  chance  of  showing 
what  he  is  worth,  if  indeed  he  is  worth  anything, 
and  anyway  I  shall  be  two  thousand  miles  nearer 
to  you.  .  .  \" 

Jeanne  received  this  letter  in  the  middle  of 
January,  and  she  perceived  by  the  date  that  it 
was  written  some  time  before  the  news  of  his 
inheritance  had  reached  Louis. 

It  roused  her  from  her  depression,  and  awoke 


80  THE  LONELY  LADY 

renewed  pride  in  her  brother's  success  where 
others  had  failed. 

"You  see,  they  always  pick  him  out.  It  just 
shows  what  they  must  think  of  him, "  she  said  to 
Dunham,  with  melancholy  exultation. 

"It  does  indeed,  ma'am,  but  if  I  was  him,  I 
must  say  I  should  have  stood  firm  and  refused  to 
go.  With  all  this  business  waiting  to  be  settled, 
and  Mr.  Valentine  able  to  do  next  to  nothing  till 
he  comes  home. " 

"He  did  not  know  all  that  when  he  wrote. 
Besides,  it  would  be  dishonour  to  refuse  to  go  on 
active  service,"  said  Jeanne,  with  reddening 
cheeks.  "  How  can  you  think  it  possible,  Mrs. 
Dunham?" 

"Well  ma'am,  a  gentleman  with  his  fortune 
has  something  better  to  do  than  go  prancing  over 
the  desert  looking  for  naked  savages — in  my 
opinion,"  said  Dunham,  firmly.  "Let  others 
go  as  has  their  bread  to  earn  and  don't  care  how 
they  does  it.  But  for  a  gentleman  who  will  have 
thousands  a  year  to  spend  as  he  likes,  I  calls  it 
tempting  Providence." 

"  I  am  afraid  it  is, "  said  simple  Jeanne.  "  But 
you  don't  understand.  Louis  is  a  soldier;  it  is 
in  his  blood.  He  must  go,  while  there  is  any 
fighting  left  to  be  done.  It  would  break  his  heart 
to  stay  behind;  though  I  am  sure  it  breaks  mine 
that  he  should  run  more  risks.  But  he  is  al- 
ways lucky.  Somehow  it  gives  rne  confidence 


OF  GROSVENOR  SQUARE  81 

to  remember  how  he  went  through  all  those 
dreadful  battles  in  South  Africa  and  never  was 
touched.  And  he  says  this  will  be  only  a  short 
expedition. " 

"People  used  to  say  that  about  South  Africa, 
ma'am.  Well  I  remember  Hewitt  telling  us  it 
would  all  be  over  in  three  months, "  said  Dunham 
gloomily.  "  But  he  was  wrong,  as  he  nearly  always 
is  though  never  owning  it. " 

"Still  perhaps — as  my  brother  says  he  will 
probably  not  be  long — I  might  get  his  room  ready 
all  the  same?" 

"It  is  his  right  to  have  the  best  room  in  the 
house.  He  's  the  master  now, "  said  Dunham, 
but  her  voice  trembled. 

"  Oh,  Mrs.  Dunham,  you  do  not  think  I  would 
take  Aunt  Caroline's  room, "  said  Jeanne,  sin- 
cerely shocked. 

"Why  not  'm?  She  won't  never  want  it  no 
more.  'T  is  my  belief  she  'd  have  wished  it. 
Though  how  that  velvet  pile  carpet  will  stand 
cigarette  ash  I  can't  tell.  I  remember  his  poor 
father  used  to  drop  it  about  long  ago. " 

"  Did  he  indeed?     But  Louis  does  not  smoke. " 

"That 's  not  likely  by  this  time,  ma'am,  what- 
ever he  may  have  done  when  he  left  home, "  said 
Dunham,  in  a  pitying  voice,  as  though  she  thought 
cigarette-smoking  must  be  hereditary. 

"No,  I  assure  you  he  is  not  a  smoker.  He 
would  have  told  me,  if  he  had  become  one." 

6 


82  THE  LONELY    LADY 

"Gentlemen  don't  tell  their  sisters  every- 
thing, ma'am,  if  you  '11  excuse  me,"  said  Dunham. 

Jeanne  gave  up  the  attempt  to  convince  the 
old  woman  that  Louis  was  the  brilliant  exception 
who  proved  this  rule.  But  about  the  room  she 
remained  firm.  Louis  must  not  take  Aunt 
Caroline's  room.  He  would  not  like  it  at  all. 
He  was  not  used  to  a  large  room,  and  would  think 
it  too  luxurious  for  a  soldier. 

"Then  if  Pyke  and  me  is  to  have  the  best 
bedroom  floor  all  to  ourselves,"  said  Dunham t 
severely,  "which  I  can't  think  becoming,  'm,  but 
far  be  it  from  me  to  say  so,  then  there  's  nothing 
left  but  the  nurseries,  what  have  never  been  used 
since  we  came  here. " 

Jeanne  mounted  the  echoing  stone  staircase 
almost  eagerly,  to  explore  the  upper  floor,  in  com- 
pany with  her  conductress. 

"The  stairs  are  very  steep,"  she  said,  pausing 
before  the  little  white  gate  at  the  top  in  order  to 
allow  Mrs.  Dunham  to  recover  breath.  "I  sup- 
pose long  ago,  when  the  house  was  built,  they 
put  this  gate  here  to  prevent  the  children  falling 
down  the  stairs?" 

"They  put  it  up  too  late,  by  all  accounts,  Miss 
Jane,"  said  Dunham.  "This  house  belonged  to 
poor  Miss  Marney's  cousin,  the  late  Duke  of 
Monaghan.  She  bought  it  from  him  over  twenty 
years  ago;  and  they  put  up  the  gate  after  the 
little  heir  fell  down  this  flight  of  stairs,  and 


OF  GROSVENOR  SQUARE  83 

was  carried  into   her  Grace's  room — for  dead. " 

"Was  he  killed?"  said  Jeanne,  horrified. 

"Crippled  for  life,  ma'am.  They  sold  the 
house  in  consequence.  They  say  her  Grace  vowed 
she  would  never  set  foot  in  it  again.  She  never 
came  near  your  poor  auntie.  But  the  Duke 
called  on  her  twice  before  he  died, "  said  Dunham, 
rather  proudly,  "and  by  all  accounts  she  lost 
very  little  by  not  seeing  the  Duchess,  for  no  one 
has  a  good  word  for  her.  They  say  she  led  the 
poor  Duke  a  terrible  life  with  her  temper  and  all.  " 

Jeanne  looked  pitifully  at  the  scene  of  this  long 
past  catastrophe.  She  pictured  "the  little  heir" 
running  gaily  forth  from  his  nursery  for  the  last 
time, — the  fall — the  cry — the  silence — and  the 
horrified  nurse  lifting  a  little  crushed  figure. 

"This  part  of  the  house  has  not  been  touched, 
ma'am,  since  Miss  Marney  came  here.  It  had 
all  been  done  up  fresh  when  the  poor  Duke  suc- 
ceeded, only  a  year  or  two  before  the  accident. 
Miss  Marney  had  no  use  for  this  floor,  so  she  left 
it  alone,  and  only  decorated  the  rooms  she  oc- 
cupied. She  never  came  up  here,  the  stairs  being 
so  steep  and  her  heart  weak.  There  's  two  very 
nice-sized  bedrooms,  ma'am,  beyond  this, "  said 
Dunham. 

Jeanne  walked  through  the  empty  and  silent 
nurseries,  softly,  and  on  tiptoe.  They  seemed 
haunted  by  the  ghosts  of  the  children  who  had 
played  there,  and  who  must  have  climbed  on  to 


84  THE  LONELY  LADY 

chairs  and  tables  when  they  wanted  to  look  out 
of  the  high  barred  windows. 

The  walls  were  still  covered  with  a  faded  papef 
of  pictured  nursery  rhymes. 

"We  will  leave  these  rooms  just  as  they  are," 
she  said,  "but  oh,  Mrs.  Dunham,  if  you  think  I 
might,  I  would  so  much  rather  come  up-stairs  to 
one  of  these  large  empty  bedrooms,  and  have 
the  one  next  to  mine  made  ready  for  him.  It 
would  seem  almost  like  company  to  know  he  was 
coming,  and  besides — I  think — surely  the  maids 
must  be  sleeping  on  this  floor,  just  beyond  the 
baize  door?  I  am  very  often  frightened  at 
night,  Mrs.  Dunham — all  alone  among  the  empty 
drawing-rooms — if  you  won't  think  it  foolish 
of  me  to  say  so,  and  I  hear  such  odd  noises. 
I  sometimes  feel  as  though  the  mahogany 
wardrobe  must  be  walking  about;  it  creaks  so 
dreadfully. " 

"Why  didn't  you  say  so  before,  ma'am?" 
said  Dunham,  astonished.  "  'T  is  for  you  to  give 
the  orders.  Your  things  shall  be  moved  this 
very  day.  And  the  head  housemaid  shall  sleep 
in  a  little  room  close  by  within  call,  as  ought  to 
be  mine,  only  my  poor  lady  would  have  me  next 
door  to  her.  To  be  sure  I  might  have  thought 
you  would  be  nervous.  " 

"Oh,  thank  you,  Mrs.  Dunham,"  said  the  poor 
little  lonely  lady,  gratefully.  For  she  was  indeed 
unable  to  realise  that  it  was  she,  after  all,  and 


OF  GROSVENOR  SQUARE  85 

not  Dunham,  who  was  mistress  of  the  house.  Her 
conscience  pricked  her  nevertheless,  for  the  op- 
portunities she  made  to  ask  Dunham's  advice, 
or  exchange  a  word  or  two  with  her. 

"What  would  Aunt  Caroline  think  of  me?" 
she  reflected,  in  dismay,  now  and  then.  "She 
said  one  must  never  talk  to  the  servants.  That 
is  what  it  is  to  be  what  poor  old  Granny  Morgan 
used  to  say  Louis  and  I  were ;  neither  fish,  flesh  nor 
fowl,  nor  good  red  herring.  At  home  I  wickedly 
look  down  on  Uncle  Roberts  and  think  myself 
more  refined  than  he,  and  that  a  farmhouse  is 
no  place  for  a  de  Courset;  when  I  am  here,  it  is 
the  farm  which  seems  the  most  natural;  and  I 
feel  like  a  doll  stuck  up  and  doing  nothing,  quite 
out  of  place;  and  would  be  glad  if  the  youngest 
housemaid,  the  pretty  one  with  red  hair,  might 
come  and  talk  to  me.  She  looks  far  more  cheerful 
than  Mrs.  Dunham.  Surely  Aunt  Caroline  would 
not  have  called  Mrs.  Dunham  exactly  a  servant 
after  they  had  lived  so  many  years  together?  She 
must  have  earned  the  right  to  be  more  of  a  friend. 
And  if  I  talk  to  nobody  I  believe  it  would  end  in 
my  going  mad.  I  used  to  enjoy  my  meals,  but 
now  I  would  almost  rather  go  without  them,  than 
be  waited  on  in  solemn  silence  by  Hewitt  and 
William." 

A  worse  penance  than  those  solitary  repasts 
was  the  daily  drive,  which  Dunham  hinted  that 
it  behooved  a  lady,  however  lonely,  to  indulge. 


86  THE  LONELY  LADY 

Jeanne  dared  not  refuse,  for  she  was  penetrated 
by  an  honest  anxiety  to  carry  out  the  wishes  of 
her  late  aunt,  and  to  prove  herself  a  worthy  re- 
presentative of  the  family.  She  learnt  from 
Dunham  the  daily  routine  of  Miss  Marney's  life 
in  London  during  the  past  twenty  years,  and  en- 
deavoured, as  faithfully  as  possible,  to  pursue 
the  same  programme.  But  she  was  buoyed 
up  by  a  secret  hope  that  when  Louis  came  home 
he  would  discover  a  less  irksome  regime  to  be 
equally  suitable  to  her  exalted  position. 

Thus  she  walked  with  Dunham  every  morning 
at  noon,  down  Upper  Grosvenor  Street  and  into 
the  Park,  that  the  toy  Yorkshire  terrier  might  be 
carefully  exercised  in  a  leading  string;  and  back 
again  through  Upper  Brook  Street  and  so  home. 

Jeanne  might  have  enjoyed  these  expeditions 
had  the  weather  been  less  cold,  and  had  Dunham 
and  the  dog  been  able  to  walk  a  little  faster.  But 
the  mincing  steps  of  the  aged  maid  were  carefully 
timed  to  accord  with  the  slow  waddle  of  the  obese 
lap-dog. 

Dunham,  gathering  her  rustling  silk  skirts  in 
a  bunch  before  her,  held  them  up  to  display  her 
old-fashioned  elastic-sided  boots,  and  picked  her 
way  nervously  over  the  crossings,  of  which  she 
had  never  been  able  to  lose  her  rustic  dread; 
whilst  Jeanne,  in  a  little  black  cloth  jacket,  suited 
rather  to  the  warm  west  country  and  to  her  accus- 
tomed energetic  tramping  over  hill  and  dale  than 


OF  GROSVENOR  SQUARE  87 

to  the  London  east  winds,  shivered  and  dawdled 
by  her  side.  But  it  occurred  neither  to  her  nor 
to  Dunham  to  take  Miss  Marney's  sables  and 
sealskins  out  of  their  camphorated  wrappings, 
and  make  use  of  them.  They  were  preserved  and 
tended  as  jealously  as  though  Dunham  expected 
their  late  owner  to  return  at  any  moment,  and 
demand  them  at  her  hands. 

The  drive  was  always  taken  in  the  immense 
double  brougham,  for  it  was  Miss  Marney's  rule 
to  have  the  close  carriage  out  in  winter,  and  the 
open  carriage  in  summer,  and  Buckam  the  coach- 
man had  no  notion  of  making  changes  at  this 
time  of  life. 

He  was  so  ponderous  and  infirm  that  he  had 
to  be  assisted  on  to  the  box ;  but  once  safely  seated 
there,  he  drove  carefully  and  well.  William  the 
Irish  footman  sat  beside  him,  and  they  apparently 
decided  together  where  the  drive  should  be  taken 
and  how  long  it  should  last. 

William's  unfortunate  low-comedy  face,  and 
his  involuntary  but  perpetual  smile  as  he  daily 
touched  his  hat  and  waited  for  orders  at  the 
carriage  door,  caused  the  lonely  lady,  quite 
unjustly,  to  suspect  him  of  laughing  at  her  in 
his  sleeve;  and  the  very  suspicion  doubled  her 
nervousness. 

Every  afternoon  she  stammered,  "  Please  go — 
nowhere  in  particular — just  drive  about,"  and 
every  afternoon,  having  thus  uttered,  she  beat 


88  THE  LONELY  LADY 

her  brains  for  a  more  dignified  and  sensible 
reply. 

One  day  it  occurred  to  her  to  enquire  of  Dunham 
why  a  stout  red  volume  of  addresses  was  always 
carefully  handed  into  the  carriage  with  the  rug. 

"It's  the  Red-book,  ma'am,"  said  Dunham, 
rather  shocked  at  this  new  display  of  ignorance. 

"I  see  it  is  a  red  book,"  said  Jeanne,  meekly, 
"but  why  must  I  take  it  out  driving?" 

"Why — though  your  poor  auntie  had  given  up 
paying  visits  for  some  time  before  she  died — yet 
in  case  she  had  felt  inclined  to  do  so,  of  course 
she  wanted  the  Red-book  handy  to  look  up  where 
the  people  lived. " 

"I  see,"  said  Jeanne,  but  she  understood 
nothing. 

"  There  used  to  be  a  lot  of  cards  left  here,  when 
we  first  came,"  said  Dunham,  nodding  sadly 
towards  the  bowl  of  hoarded  dingy  pasteboards 
which  decorated  the  table  in  the  hall. 

"Did  Aunt  Caroline  know  so  many  people 
when  first  she  came  to  London?" 

"She  knew  very  few  people,  but  she  paid  a  lot 
of  calls  on  people  whom  you  might  have  thought 
would  be  glad  enough  to  know  her,  seeing  she  was 
related  by  blood  (though  rather  distant  to  be  sure) 
to  a  many  of  them.  She  tried  to  distract  herself 
after  her  poor  brother's  death  by  making  new 
acquaintances,  poor  dear,  which  she  never  could 
have  done  in  his  lifetime,  for  he  could  n't  abide 


OF  GROSVENOR  SQUARE  89 

visitors.  Though  to  be  sure  he  grudged  her 
nothing  else ;  and  she  always  had  her  clothes  from 

/ 

Elise,  and  Worth,  and  all  the  grand  places,  though 
it  often  seemed  a  pity  like,  with  no  one  to  see  them. 
But  she  liked  to  keep  up  a  proper  dignity,  Miss 
Jane,  as  a  lady  in  her  position  ought. " 

"Yes, "  said  Jeanne,  and  her  heart  sank. 

"But  there,  all  her  efforts  came  to  nothing. 
She  was  too  old-fashioned  to  take  to  new  faces 
or  new  ways,  and  Londoners  was  too  free  and  easy 
for  her,  as  had  been  all  her  life  Miss  Marney  of 
Orsett,  and  accustomed  to  take  the  lead  and  be 
deferred  to.  She  just  quarrelled  with  one  after 
the  other  and  that 's  about  all  it  came  to.  And 
nobody  comes  to  look  for  you  in  London,  Miss 
Jane,  be  who  you  may. " 

"That  is  very  true,"  and  Jeanne  sighed  in 
sympathy. 

"You  can  be  more  solitary  here  than  ever  you 
could  in  the  depths  of  the  country, "  said  Dunham, 
shaking  her  head.  "  Where  at  the  least  the  passers- 
by  will  give  you  good-day.  So  for  the  last  ten 
or  fifteen  years  we  've  been  satisfied  to  keep  our- 
selves to  ourselves,  willy-nilly,  as  a  body  might 
say.  But  it 's  different  with  you,  missie ;  you  're 
young,  and  have  your  life  before  you.  It 's  not 
for  me  to  advise  you,  'm,  but  I  would  make  friends 
while  I  was  young,  in  your  place,  and  not  leave 
till  it 's  too  late,  Miss  Jane. " 

"That  is  just  what  my  aunt  said  to  me;  that 


9o  THE  LONELY  LADY 

I  should  have  plenty  of  visits  to  make  later  on," 
thought  Jeanne,  and  she  recalled  her  aunt's  in- 
junctions to  be  exclusive.  "I  must  be  very 
careful  whom  I  make  friends  with,  however," 
she  thought,  anxiously. 

It  seemed  to  her  that  all  London  lay  open  to 
her  choice;  and  the  only  question  was — where  to 
begin?  It  would  have  been  hard  to  fathom  the 
depths  of  Jeanne's  social  ignorance. 

She  consulted  Dunham  no  further,  but  thought 
out  the  question  of  calls  and  callers  for  herself, 
in  the  light  of  the  foregoing  hints,  and  of  her  lively 
recollections  of  the  visiting  code  of  the  Rector's 
wife  at  Coed-Ithel. 

"She  said  she  never  lost  a  moment  calling  on 
new  neighbours,"  thought  Jeanne,  "she  said  it 
was  the  duty  of  the  residents.  I  wonder  why 
nobody  has  called  on  me.  Perhaps  they  think 
it  too  soon  after  poor  Aunt  Caroline's  death;  or 
perhaps  they  do  not  realise  that  any  one  is  living 
here,  and  think  I  am  just  the  companion,  or  some- 
body of  that  kind,  waiting  till  the  owner  comes 
home.  But  I  am  the  lady  of  the  house  really. 
I  suppose  it  is  my  duty,  as  Dunham  says,  to 
make  a  few  friends,  but  it  is  very  hard  to  know 
where  to  begin. " 

She  turned  over  the  pages  of  the  Red-book 
helplessly. 

"The  day  after  the  first  Sunday  they  came  to 
church  she  always  went,"  said  Jeanne,  "I  re- 


OF  GROSVENOR  SQUARE  91 

member  that,  because  I  asked  her  once  why  she 
waited  till  then,  as  one  was  not  to  lose  a  moment 
in  welcoming  them,  and  she  said,  only  to  give 
them  time  to  settle  down.  Well — I  suppose  it 
must  be  the  people  living  in  the  same  square  who 
are  my  neighbours, — anyway  they  are  the  nearest. 
The  first  time  I  see  an  arrival  of  a  new  family 
here  put  in  the  paper,  I  will  make  a  start,"  she 
resolved. 

She  scanned  the  advertisements  in  the  fashion- 
able column  of  the  Morning  Post  very  regularly 
for  some  days  after  making  this  resolution;  and 
her  scrutiny  was  presently  rewarded  by  the  an- 
nouncement that  Mr.  and  the  Hon.  Mrs.  Wheler 
had  arrived  at  129  Grosvenor  Square. 

This  was  on  a  Friday. 

Jeanne  considerately  allowed  the  proper  interval 
to  elapse,  and  on  Monday  afternoon  when  starting 
for  her  drive,  she  delivered  an  order  to  the  aston- 
ished William  which  he  had  to  repeat  twice  to 
Buckam  on  the  box,  before  the  coachman  could 
believe  his  ears. 

"Please  drive  me  to  129  Grosvenor  Square. 
I  am  going  to  pay  a  visit,"  said  the  lonely  lady, 
in  a  determined  but  shaking  voice. 


CHAPTER  VII.1 


MRS.  WHELER  had  entertained  a  small  party  of 
friends  at  an  early  luncheon,  but  when  the  clock 
struck  half  past  three,  she  began  to  hope  that 
they  would  not  linger  unduly  over  their  coffee 
and  cigarettes  in  the  drawing-room,  as  they 
seemed  much  inclined  to  do — lest  her  programme 
for  the  afternoon  be  disarranged. 

The  butler,  who  was  entirely  in  his  employer's 
confidence  on  such  matters,  was  also  growing 
uneasy.  He  knew  that  Mrs.  Wheler  had  an  im- 
portant engagement  at  the  other  end  of  town, 
and  he  did  not  see  how  she  would  be  able  to  keep 
it,  and  be  home  again  in  time  for  her  bridge  party 
at  half  past  four,  unless  some  sort  of  a  move  were 
made. 

But  then  neither  did  he  see  how  he  could  hurry 
the  Duchess  away. 

He  had  already  announced  her  Grace's  car- 
riage in  a  confidential  whisper,  not  to  inter- 
rupt more  than  was  necessary  her  Grace's 
animated  conversation  with  Mr.  Wheler;  and  the 

02 


THE  LONELY  LADY  93 

Duchess  said  thank  you,  and  went  on  talking 
to  her  host  as  though  nothing  had  happened. 

Of  the  other  ladies,  one  was  intending  to  walk, 
and  being  the  least  important  of  the  three,  did 
not  like  to  make  the  first  move;  and  the  other, 
having  no  horses  to  consider,  but  a  motor  which 
conveyed  her  so  quickly  from  one  spot  to  another 
that  she  had  some  ado  to  fill  up  her  afternoon  in 
proportion,  was  not  sorry  to  dawdle  over  her  cigar- 
ette a  little  longer  than  usual. 

The  butler,  being  an  adept  at  reading  his 
lady's  almost  expressionless  face,  decided,  as  a 
desperate  remedy,  to  admit  callers;  though  Mrs. 
Wheler  was  never  at  home  to  anybody  except 
by  appointment,  save  one  or  two  intimates,  whose 
names  were  specially  registered  in  the  butler's 
brain. 

Thus  it  came  about  that  Jeanne  was  presently 
ushered  into  the  presence  of  eight  ladies  and 
gentlemen  seated  round  the  spacious  room;  and 
into  the  midst  of  a  buzz  of  conversation  which 
the  loud  announcement  of  her  name  brought  to 
a  sudden  though  a  momentary  pause.  For  the 
space  of  a  single  second,  eight  pairs  of  eyes  glanced 
curiously  towards  the  smiling,  dimpling,  blushing 
countenance  of  the  timid  visitor. 

Jeanne  was  abashed  almost  to  faintness.  Yet 
the  room  and  its  occupants  were  instantly  im- 
pressed upon  her  consciousness,  even  as  she 
paused,  hesitating,  upon  the  threshold. 


94  THE  LONELY  LADY 

A  stately  room,  with  red  walls,  dark  pictures, 
a  quantity  of  gilding,  many  mirrors,  and  a  polished 
slippery  floor. 

One  old  bald-headed  gentleman,  two  tall 
middle-aged  gentlemen,  and  one  young,  rather 
small,  fair  gentleman. 

A  stout,  short,  commanding-looking  lady,  with 
a  curled  grey  front,  and  a  red  face,  talking  in  a 
very  loud  voice  to  the  bald  gentleman,  and  holding 
long-handled  glasses  to  her  short-sighted  eyes. 
This  was  the  Duchess. 

A  thin  lady  in  rough  tweed  with  a  tartan  blouse 
and  an  air  of  great  distinction.  This  was  the 
lady  who  did  not  feel  important  enough  to  get 
up  and  go  away,  though  she,  and  Mrs.  Wheler, 
and  the  butler,  all  wished  that  the  party  might 
come  to  an  end.  An  exquisite  languid  lady  in 
flowing  draperies  and  a  Gainsborough  headpiece, 
who  was  the  owner  of  the  motor  brougham. 

And  a  lady  to  whom  the  only  epithet  that  could 
be  applied  was  the  word  "smart,"  and  this  was 
Mrs.  Wheler;  though  it  did  not  occur  to  Jeanne 
as  a  possibility,  that  the  lady  of  the  house,  even 
at  an  early  and  informal  luncheon,  could  be 
wearing  a  hat  in  her  own  drawing-room. 

Mrs.  Wheler  was  smart,  and  she  was  nothing 
else  in  particular.  Neither  kind  nor  cross,  in 
temper;  neither  warm  nor  icy  in  disposition; 
neither  interested  nor  bored  by  life  in  general. 
Even  her  appearance  was  of  the  negative  order; 


OF  GROSVENOR  SQUARE  95 

though  it  varied  considerably  with  the  changes 
of  fashion. 

When  waists  were  worn  high,  she  was  short- 
waisted;  when  low,  her  body  grew  miraculously 
longer.  Her  abundant  hair  had  been  fair,  until 
straw-coloured  hair  became  too  expressive,  when 
it  blushed  a  modest  Titian  red,  which  was  dark- 
ening by  easy  stages  into  brown.  Presently, 
as  she  grew  older,  a  few  silver  threads  would 
certainly  appear,  for  Mrs.  Wheler  had  a  strong 
sense  of  the  fitness  of  things;  and  nothing  would 
have  induced  her  to  allow  her  hair  to  turn  white  t 
"in  a  single  night, "  though  when  the  time  came, 
a  coiffure  &  la  Marie  Antoinette,  with  dark  eye- 
brows and  lashes  to  form  an  agreeable  contrast^ 
would  probably  not  be  wanting.  Yet  she  con- 
trived to  avoid  all  unpleasant  obviousness  of 
the  artificial;  presenting  only,  so  to  speak,  her 
picturesqueness  to  the  public,  and  keeping  her 
methods  modestly  in  the  background,  as  becomes 
a  true  artist. 

From  habit  Mrs.  Wheler  never  made  an  engage- 
ment without  writing  it  down;  so  she  kept  her 
memory  clear  for  facts  concerning  that  portion 
of  humanity  in  which  she  was  chiefly  interested. 
Her  mind  was  stored  with  their  names;  their 
relationships  recognised  or  unrecognised;  their 
doings  and  their  undoings,  and  the  approximate 
value  of  their  social  or  financial  status. 

Racing  and  card-playing  received  a  large  share 


96  THE  LONELY  LADY 

of  her  conscious  attention.  Entertaining,  visit- 
ing, slumming,  and  theatre-going,  had  become 
almost  mechanical  processes.  Without  referring 
to  her  engagement  book  she  could  hardly  have 
told  what  she  had  been  doing  on  the  previous  day. 

Her  mind,  deprived  of  sufficient  repose,  learnt 
to  rest  though  her  body  was  in  action;  and  re- 
mained blank,  very  often,  whilst  her  person  was 
being  rushed  from  one  function  to  another,  whilst 
her  lips  were  smiling,  and  her  well-trained  tongue 
uttering  short  platitudes. 

It  required  something  out  of  the  ordinary  to 
arrest  her  real  attention. 

Jeanne's  appearance  was  something  out  of 
the  ordinary,  and  for  a  moment  Mrs.  Wheler's 
mechanism  of  politeness  ceased  to  work  in 
consequence. 

Then  recovering  her  presence  of  mind,  and 
recognising  the  butler's  strategy  at  one  and  the 
same  moment,  she  advanced  to  meet  her  unknown 
visitor,  who  was  so  obviously  unable  to  distin- 
guish her  hostess,  that  general  conversation  was 
immediately  and  politely  resumed,  to  give  her 
an  opportunity  of  explaining  herself. 

Nevertheless,  the  butler  had  triumphed,  for 
the  admittance  of  an  afternoon  caller  produced 
the  anticipated  effect. 

"Good  gracious,"  said  the  Duchess,  looking 
across  the  room  at  the  Empire  clock,  and  not 
perceiving  that  the  hands  were  pointing  to  twenty 


OF  GROSVENOR  SQUARE  97 

minutes  past  twelve,  "I  had  no  idea  it  was  so 
late.  I  must  fly.  Now  you  will  promise  to  con- 
sider what  I  have  been  saying,  Mr.  Wheler.  It 
is  persons  like  yourself  to  whom  we  look  in  this 
matter.  Practical  business-like  men. " 

Mr.  Wheler.  who  was  on  the  Stock  Exchange, 
and  who  desired  rather  to  be  considered  fashion- 
able than  business-like,  gave  a  somewhat  sickly 
smile,  and  declared  himself  already  convinced  by 
the  arguments  of  the  Duchess, — the  more  warmly 
because  she  gave  some  evidence  of  a  desire  to 
repeat  them  all  over  again  from  the  beginning. 

Whilst  he  was  engaged  in  combating  this 
inclination  by  recapitulating  them  himself  as 
rapidly  as  possible,  Mrs.  Wheler  shook  hands  with 
Jeanne,  and  said,  "How  do  you  do?"  in  an  un- 
certain puzzled  voice. 

"It  was  then  that  Jeanne  found  courage  to 
utter  the  remark  which  she  had  rehearsed  to  her- 
self at  intervals  ever  since  the  announcement  of 
the  Whelers'  arrival  in  town  had  appeared  in  the 
Morning  Post. 

"I  am  very  glad  to  see  you,  Mrs.  Wheler,  and 
I  hope  you  are  feeling  a  little  more  settled  by  this 
time,  Mrs.  Wheler?" 

The  heartfelt  kindness  of  her  tone,  and  careful 
repetition  of  Mrs.  Wheler's  name,  were  due  to 
Jeanne's  determination  to  follow  her  model  as 
closely  as  possible.  She  reproduced  the  Rector's 
wife  with  great  exactness. 
7 


98  THE  LONELY  LADY 

But  Mrs.  Wheler's  astonishment  at  this  address 
was  so  painfully  obvious  that  Jeanne  was  obliged 
to  descend  into  a  stammering  explanation,  in 
her  own  person. 

"  I  live  at  99,  over  the  way, "  said  Jeanne. 
"The  house  belonged  to  my  aunt,  Miss  Marney 
of  Orsett,  and  she  is  dead,  and  I  am  living  there 
all  alone  till  my  brother  comes  home.  I — I  saw 
in  the  papers  that  you  had  only  just  arrived — 
so  being  such  a  near  neighbour,  I — I  thought  I 
would  come  and  see  you. " 

"  Oh,  indeed, "  said  Mrs.  Wheler,  speechless. 

The  brown  eyes  grew  larger,  and  the  red  cheeks 
turned  white. 

"I  am  afraid  I  must  have  done  something 
wrong,  or  unusual,  after  all, "  said  Jeanne. 

Mrs.  Wheler's  vacant  expression  offered  so 
little  consolation,  that  she  looked  round,  almost 
wildly,  as  though  for  a  means  of  escape  from  the 
situation  into  which  her  ignorance  had  betrayed 
her. 

Her  glance  fell  upon  the  face  of  the  young 
gentleman  whose  conversation  with  Mrs.  Wheler 
her  entrance  had  interrupted.  He  was  so  close 
that  he  must  have  heard  the  greetings  which  had 
been  exchanged  between  his  hostess  and  her  un- 
invited guest,  and  Jeanne  thought  he  looked  rather 
sorry  for  her;  her  brown  eyes  conveyed  to  him 
an  unconscious  appeal  for  help. 

The  young  man  responded  instantly  to  that 


OF  GROSVENOR  SQUARE  99 

mute,  almost  despairing  look,  and  flung  himself 
gallantly  into  the  breach. 

"Ninety-nine  was  my  father's  old  house,"  he 
said  in  very  gentle  and  courteous  tones.  "Will 
you  introduce  me  to  Miss  chum — chum — chum," 
with  a  polite  mumble  to  cover  his  ignorance  of 
Jeanne's  name. 

"The  Duke  of  Monaghan,"  said  Mrs.  Wheler's 
mechanical  tongue,  before  she  remembered  that 
she  did  not  know  in  the  least  to  whom  she  was 
presenting  her  visitor. 

"Oh!"  said  Jeanne, — she  forgot  her  embar- 
rassment in  her  surprise  and  delight,  "are  you 
really — the  little  boy  who  fell  down  the  nursery 
staircase?" 

"  I  am  indeed, "  said  the  Duke.  His  blue  eyes 
regarded  her  with  an  expression  in  which  mirth 
and  melancholy  held  equal  shares. 

"But  I  was  told  you  were  crippled  for  life," 
she  said  ingenuously. 

"Not  quite  so  bad  as  that."  He  turned  the 
conversation  dexterously. 

"  Did  I  not  hear  you  say  that  Miss  Marney  of 
Orsett  was  your  aunt?" 

"My  great-aunt." 

"  My  father  had  the  honour  of  claiming  cousin- 
ship  with  her,"  said  the  Duke,  politely. 

"Yes,  she  told  me  she  bought  the  house  from 
him.  But  then  we  are — we  must  be  related, 
too, "  said  Jeanne,  and  her  face,  returning  to  its 


ioo  THE  LONELY  LADY 

natural  colour,  looked  quite  happy  and  animated 
again. 

"I  hope  so,"  said  the  Duke,  with  a  little  bow 
which  she  thought  rather  charming,  but  very 
old-fashioned  in  a  boy  of  his  years.  Louis  never 
bowed  like  that. 

Here  there  was  a  general  movement  among 
the  company,  and  every  one  advanced  to  take 
leave  of  Mrs.  Wheler,  who  was  listening,  petrified, 
to  this  conversation. 

The  Duke  springing  from  his  seat,  as  his  host- 
ess rose,  moved  a  pace  or  two  forward,  and 
Jeanne  saw  that  he  was  lame. 

Poor  "little  heir"! 

Jeanne,  conscious  of  her  own  rustic  strength 
and  ruddy  health,  felt  very  sorry  for  the  Duke. 

He  was  still  rather  little,  scarcely  taller  than 
herself;  slight  and  fair,  and  absurdly  delicate- 
looking,  she  thought,  for  a  man. 

Jeanne  had  but  one  standard  for  manhood  in 
her  heart,  and  the  Duke  fell  grievously  short  of  it. 

Louis,  at  twenty  years  old,  when  she  had  seen 
him  last,  in  the  very  flower  and  perfection  of 
youth,  had  measured  six  foot  one  in  his  stockings. 
She  thought  of  his  broad  chest,  his  lithe  slender 
form  and  active  springing  gait,  his  strong,  mus- 
cular brown  hands,  and  sunburnt  face. 

Poor  sickly  Duke!  so  little  and  weak  and  lame; 
and  colouring  like  a  girl  with  the  mere  effort  of 
speaking  to  a  stranger.  Jeanne  forgot  her  own 


OF  GROSVENOR  SQUARE  101 

shyness  in  the  warm  pity  which  filled  her 
heart. 

"  Good-bye,  dear,  I  had  such  a  delightful  con- 
versation with  your  dear  good  man,  I  could  hardly 
tear  myself  away.  I  have  been  boring  him  quite 
too  dreadfully,"  said  the  Duchess,  meaning  to 
be  playful,  and  unaware  that  she  was  empha- 
sising an  unhappy  truth.  "  Denis? " 

"  I  am  going  to  walk,  mother, "  said  the  Duke. 

The  Duchess  looked  vexed. 

With  another  gallant  effort,  causing  yet  a  fresh 
variation  from  pallor  to  redness  of  his  unfortu- 
nately tell-tale  complexion,  the  young  man  boldly 
presented  Jeanne  to  his  parent,  explaining  the 
connection  very  clearly  and  briefly  as  he  did  so. 

"A  new  cousin,  dear  me,  how  charming!"  said 
the  Duchess,  looking  rather  disapprovingly  at 
Jeanne  through  her  glasses.  "Do  come  and  see 
me.  I  never  understand  relationships.  It  is 
quite  hopeless,  you  know,  for  a  stupid  person 
like  myself.  I  am  generally  in  after  five.  Well, 
if  you  won't  come,  Denis,  I  must  go  alone. "  She 
turned  once  more  to  her  hostess.  "Good-bye, 
dear,  it  has  been  too  nice  seeing  you  again.  Don't 
forget  Wednesday  at  four;  and  I  shall  depend  on 
you  for  all  the  prettiest  things  on  our  stall. " 

Mrs.  Wheler  assured  her  that  she  would  not  for- 
get, Mr.  Wheler  escorted  her  Grace  down-stairs, 
and  the  rest  of  the  party  gradually  melted  away. 

The  Duke  in  his  turn  shook  hands,  and  Jeanne 


io2  THE  LONELY  LADY 

watched  him  limping  away  across  the  great  room, 
with  much  concern  lest  he  should  slip  and  fall 
upon  the  polished  floor. 

She  came  to  herself  with  a  start,  observing 
that  Mrs.  Wheler  was  obviously  waiting  for  her  too 
to  take  leave  and  depart,  though  she  did  not  speak 
until  the  door  had  closed  behind  the  Duke. 

"  I  am  afraid  I  must  ask  you  to  excuse  me. 
Pray  don't  think  me  rude,  but  I  have  an  engage- 
ment, "  she  said,  with  more  civility  than  she  would 
have  shown,  perhaps,  had  the  Duke  not  been  so 
good-natured  as  to  claim  cousinship  with  this 
rather  shabby  stranger;  but  still,  without  any 
kindness  in  her  voice.  Jeanne  was  too  obviously 
a  nobody,  too  rustic  in  appearance  and  manner, 
to  make  her  a  possible  acquaintance  for  Mrs. 
Wheler,  let  her  be  related  to  whom  she  would. 

Mrs.  Wheler  knew  the  Duchess  of  Monaghan 
well,  and  was  acquainted  with  all  her  ways. 

She  had  a  loud  and  hearty  manner,  and  was 
always  as  gracious  to  nobodies  as  only  really  great 
ladies  can  afford  to  be ;  and  she  always  asked  them 
to  go  and  see  her  after  five,  and  then  forgot  all 
about  them. 

They  generally  went,  and  then  they  heard 
that  the  Duchess  was  not  at  home,  and  derived 
what  satisfaction  they  might  from  leaving  their 
humble  cards,  and  there  was  an  end  of  it. 

If  she  had  really  wished  to  seek  the  further  ac- 
quaintance of  her  new  cousin  she  would  have  asked 


OF  GROSVENOR  SQUARE  103 

her  to  lunch,  thought  the  experienced  Mrs.  Wheler. 
So  she  was  civil  but  not  empresste  when  she  begged 
Jeanne  to  excuse  her. 

"Oh,  I  will  go  at  once,  Mrs.  Wheler,"  cried 
Jeanne.  She  was  distressed,  but  there  were  no 
servants  present  to  make  her  nervous,  and  in  her 
eyes  Mrs.  Wheler  was  a  woman  almost  old  enough 
to  be  her  mother,  who  would  surely,  now  that 
they  were  alone,  be  too  kind  to  be  angry,  when 
she  knew  that  her  visitor  had  only  tres- 
passed through  ignorance,  and  was  sincerely 
penitent. 

"  Please  forgive  me,  Mrs.  Wheler, "  said  poor 
rustic  Jeanne,  who  had  no  idea  how  this  constant 
repetition  of  her  name  jarred  upon  the  well-trained 
instincts  of  her  hostess,  who  was  as  full  of  con- 
ventional good  breeding  as  she  was  empty  of 
emotions.  "  In  the  country,  where  I  was  brought 
up,  our  Rector's  wife  used  to  call  upon  neighbours 
directly  they  arrived,  and  I  thought  it  was  the 
same  in  London.  I  am  afraid  it  is  all  wrong,  and 
I  have  done  something  dreadful.  I  saw  it  in  all 
your  faces,  somehow,  as  I  came  in,  and  I  could 
have  sunk  through  the  floor,  Mrs.  Wheler — but 
I  am  very  lonely  at  home,  and  hoped  I  was  going 
the  right  way  to  make  a  few  friends  by  being 
neighbourly,  and  paying  calls." 

She  looked  anxiously  into  the  impassive  face. 
What  odd  fishy  eyes  had  Mrs.  Wheler,  thought 
poor  Jeanne;  they  looked  through  you,  and  at 


io4  THE  LONELY  LADY 

the  wall  beyond,  as  though  you  were  transparent, 
or  not  there  at  all. 

"  It  would  be  very  kind  of  you  to  explain  why 
it  was  wrong,  Mrs.  Wheler, "  she  faltered,  and 
she  realised  that  with  every  word  she  had  spoken 
Mrs.  Wheler  had  grown  less  interested,  though 
her  vague  civility  of  tone  and  manner  never 
faltered. 

"  I  am  afraid  I  have  really  no  time  for  expla- 
nations— "  she  was  walking  to  the  fireplace,  "of 
course  I  quite  understand  it  was  a  mistake,"  her 
hand  on  the  bell.  "Pray  think  no  more  of  it." 
She  rang  twice.  "Would  you  like  a  cab  sent  for? 
— oh,  you  have  a  carriage." 

She  looked  at  the  servant  who  entered,  and 
this  time  her  expressionless  countenance  spoke, 
and  dumbly  directed  him  to  show  the  unwelcome 
guest  out  as  speedily  as  might  be. 

Jeanne  found  herself  walking  down  the  grand 
staircase,  wrapt  as  it  wer*3  in  a  cloud  of  shame 
and  mortification. 

The  Duke's  lameness  caused  him,  perhaps,  to 
move  very  slowly.  He  was  still  in  the  hall,  where 
the  invaluable  butler  was  carefully  fitting  him 
into  his  fur  coat.  His  closely  cropped  head 
emerged  from  the  black  astrachan  collar,  looking 
very  small  and  very  fair;  and  he  held  his  hat 
in  his  hand,  and  bowed  politely  to  Jeanne,  as  she 
passed  hurriedly  by.  She  scarcely  saw  him. 

The  burning  red  of  her  cheeks,  and  the  glis- 


OF  GROSVENOR  SQUARE  105 

tening  of  tears  on  her  downcast  black  lashes, 
caused  him  to  divine  that  she  had  obtained  scant 
comfort  from  her  explanation  with  Mrs.  Wheler. 

He  limped  to  the  front  door,  and  looked  after 
her,  in  a  hesitating,  undecided  manner,  before 
asking  for  a  hansom. 

For  Jeanne,  instead  of  waiting  decorously  upon 
the  steps  of  the  mansion,  for  the  late  Miss  Marney's 
massive  equipage  to  be  drawn  up  before  the  front 
door,  flew  past  the  astonished  servants,  past 
the  yet  more  astonished  William,  who  was  stand- 
ing on  the  pavement  with  the  rug  over  his  arm; 
and  ran  to  the  spot  where  Buckam  and  the  fat 
horses  were  sleepily  waiting,  half  way  down  the 
Square.  She  ran,  she  flew,  she  opened  the  door 
for  herself,  she  scrambled  into  the  carriage,  and 
hid  herself  as  quickly  as  she  could  within  its 
friendly  shelter. 

Poor  William,  rug  on  arm,  saw  nothing  for  it 
but  to  pocket  his  dignity  and  run  after  her  as  fast 
as  he  could;  but  he  was  not  young,  and  he  was 
little  accustomed  to  running,  so  that  Jeanne  had 
a  moment's  breathing  space  in  which  to  collect 
her  scattered  wits  and  gather  up  her  failing 
powers,  before  he  arrived,  panting,  at  the  door 
of  the  brougham. 

"Drive  me  home  at  once,"  she  said  with  a 
courage  born  of  despair.  "I  am — I  am  ill;  at 
least  I  am  tired — and  I  can't  go  any  further 
to-day. " 


io6  THE  LONELY  LADY 

William  touched  his  hat  and  mounted  the  box. 

"  She  took  and  run  like  a  lamplighter,  and  then 
she  said  she  was  ill!"  he  said  in  deep  amazement 
to  his  fellow. 

Jeanne  held  her  head  high  as  she  descended 
at  her  own  front  door,  and  walked  through  the 
hall  into  the  morning-room.  But  directly  the 
door  was  shut  behind  her,  she  sank  upon  the  couch 
and  wept  tears  of  humiliation. 

"I  must  never  let  Louis  know.  He  would  be 
ashamed  of  me.  Oh,  how  could  I  be  such  a  fool. 
The  sister  of  an  officer  and  a  gentleman!  She 
might  have  been  a  little  nicer,  and  me  in  mourning. 
If  anybody  in  the  kindness  of  their  heart  dropped 
in  to  see  me — would  I  treat  them  so?" 

Her  tears  relieved  her  a  little;  but  alas,  the 
lady  of  the  house,  even  though  she  be  a  lonely 
lady,  cannot  weep  at  will.  She  cried  with  one 
eye,  so  to  speak,  on  the  door,  lest  Hewitt  should 
come  in  to  make  up  the  fire  before  she  had  done; 
and  presently  crept  to  her  room  to  remove  all 
traces  of  her  tears  before  Dunham  should  arrive 
to  put  away  her  outdoor  things. 

Dunham  had  sternly  insisted  that  Jeanne 
must  now  be  waited  upon  as  beseemed  the  head 
of  a  household  so  magnificent;  consequently  the 
aged  maid  climbed  the  steep  staircase  for  the 
purpose  of  hanging  up  in  the  wardrobe  the  little 
black  hat  and  jacket  which  Jeanne  could  just  as 


OF  GROSVENOR  SQUARE  107 

easily  have  put  away  for  herself,  and  for  taking 
out  of  it  the  plain  black  gown  which  was  only  one 
of  two  that  had  been  purchased  as  mourning  for 
Miss  Marney. 

But  it  pleased  Dunham  to  maintain  this  sem- 
blance of  an  occupation,  and  Jeanne  was  very 
willing  to  give  her  pleasure,  and  indeed,  thank- 
ful for  her  company  on  any  pretext,  that 
she  might  indulge  herself  in  the  luxury  of 
conversation. 

As  she  mounted  the  nursery  staircase  in  haste 
to  be  beforehand  with  Dunham  upon  this  occasion, 
she  cast  a  glance  of  pitying  recollection  at  the 
little  white  gate,  and  thought  of  the  young  man 
who  was  paying  a  life-penalty  for  one  woman's 
carelessness. 

"  He  was  very  good  and  he  had  nice  blue  eyes, 
with  a  kind  funny  expression,"  she  thought, 
"but  oh,  I  shall  never  be  able  to  think  of  the 
'  little  heir '  again  in  the  same  way.  He  must  -al- 
ways have  been  fair  and  gentle,  and  not  at  all  my 
idea  of  a  man.  I  thought  of  a  sturdy,  beautiful, 
laughing  boy  like  Louis  used  to  be.  Oh  I  wish 
I  could  tell  somebody  what  I  have  done  this  day. 
I  know  I  shall  lie  awake  all  night,  thinking  what 
a  fool  I  have  made  of  myself.  It  would  be 
a  relief  to  even  tell  Mrs.  Dunham,"  but  she 
struggled  bravely  against  the  temptation. 

"Oh  dear,  oh  dear!  But  I  must  keep  it  secret, 
if  only  for  the  sake  of  Louis,  and  because  I  am 


io8  THE  LONELY  LADY 

a  de  Courset. "  Then  she  tried  vainly  to  comfort 
herself. 

"After  all,  it  was  only  a  mistake." 

She  looked  up  at  the  simpering  disdainful  face 
of  the  Comtesse  Anne-Marie,  which  now  smiled 
upon  her  from  the  wall  of  her  bedroom,  where  she 
had  ventured,  now  that  the  house  belonged  to 
Louis,  to  suspend  the  triple  frame  of  miniatures. 

"  Mrs.  Wheler  would  not  have  turned  you  away 
from  her  door,"  she  said,  proudly. 

As  soon  as  Dunham  appeared,  and  after  the 
fashion  of  womankind,  Jeanne  played  round  the 
edge  of  the  secret  she  was  determined  not  to 
betray. 

"Who  do  you  think  I  met  to-day,  Mrs. 
Dunham?" 

"  I  am  sure  I  can't  say,  ma'am, "  said  Dunham, 
who,  having  already  heard  from  William  of  her 
young  lady's  extraordinary  exit  from  129  Gros- 
venor  Square,  was  burning  with  curiosity  as  to 
the  why  and  the  wherefore  of  such  behaviour. 

"The  little  boy  who  fell  down  the  nursery 
staircase  here!  He  is  not  a  cripple,  but  slightly 
lame.  He  is  grown  up  now,  but  he  is  still  not 
very  big,  and  looks  very  delicate  for  a  man.  The 
Duke  of  Monaghan." 

"Well  to  be  sure!  I  daresay  you  mentioned, 
ma'am,  that  the  old  rooms  was  kept  just  as  they 
was?" 

"I   had   very   little   conversation   with   him," 


109 

said  Jeanne,  rather  hastily,  "I  was  very  sorry 
for  him  though,"  and  she  added  to  herself,  "and 
he  looked  a  little  sorry  for  me." 

"Sorry  for  him,  ma'am!  It's  not  dukes  and 
such-like  as  usually  calls  for  sorrow,"  said  Dunham 
rather  shocked. 

"  If  you  had  seen  him,  Mrs.  Dunham,  you 
would  have  been  sorry  for  him  too.  He  is  so 
delicate-looking ;  and  so  fair  that  he  blushes  like 
a  girl.  Of  course  he  is  only  a  boy,  and  I  dare- 
say he  may  be  very  shy." 

"The  accident  happened  over  twenty  years 
ago,  ma'am;  I  can't  quite  think  him  so  young 
as  all  that,"  said  Dunham,  rather  stiffly. 

"Is  it  possible?  Then  he  must  be  as  old  as 
Louis  when  he  left  home!  How  dreadful!  for 
beside  him  he  would  look  as  though  a  breath 
might  blow  him  away.  I  don't  mean  he  is  n't 
very  nice-looking  in  his  way,  Mrs.  Dunham,  but 
if  a  man  is  not  straight  and  strong  and  active,  I 
don't  see  what  he  's  fit  for,"  said  Jeanne,  whose 
views  of  mankind  were  strictly  limited  to  the 
horizon  of  Louis. 

"Well,  'm — there  's  many  things  he  's  fit  for, 
if  you  ask  me,"  said  Dunham,  with  an  increase 
of  asperity.  "A  Duke  is  a  Duke,  and  you  may 
depend  on  it  his  Grace  would  find  plenty  of  strong 
active  men  only  too  thankful  to  stand  in  his 
shoes,  even  if  one  of  them  is  filled  with  a  lame 
foot." 


no  THE  LONELY  LADY 

"His  Grace — is  that  what  he  is  called?"  said 
Jeanne.  "It  sounds  very  pretty,  but  somehow 
more  appropriate  for  a  nobleman  of  the  olden 
time,  in  a  court  suit  and  a  powdered  wig,  than 
for  just  an  ordinary  young  man  with  a  black  coat 
and  a  bunch  of  violets  in  his  buttonhole." 

"Dukes  is  not  ordinary  men,  ma'am,"  said 
Dunham  reproachfully,  "I  was  brought  up  to 
respect  my  betters. " 

"Do  you  think  that — his  title  makes  him — 
your  better?"  said  Jeanne,  thoughtfully. 

"Yes,  ma'am,  I  do,"  said  Dunham,  who  had 
the  courage  of  her  opinions.  "  I  'm  no  Radical. 
Church  and  State  is  what  I  always  says.  If  his 
ancestors  was  n't  no  better  than  mine  it  stands 
to  reason  they  would  n't  have  been  made  Dukes." 

"There  is  something  in  that,  Mrs.  Dunham, 
and  I  'm  rather  glad  you  like  titles  so  much,  for 
I  have  always  thought  them  prettier  than  plain 
names  myself.  But  Uncle  Roberts  is  a  Radical, 
and  he  says  he  despises  them. " 

"Most  likely  your  uncle  Roberts  has  never 
come  across  them,  miss,"  said  Dunham,  snorting. 

"I  don't  know  that  he  has,"  said  Jeanne, 
rather  crestfallen. 

"People  as  has  them,  is  glad  enough  to  wear 
them,  ma'am,  knowing  well  enough  it  gives  them 
a  right  to  be  respected  more  than  common  folk. " 

"Are  folk  who  have  titles  so  much  more  re- 
spected than  other  folks — unless  they  are  great — 


OF  GROSVENOR  SQUARE  in 

really  great  I  mean  in  other  ways  as  well?"  said 
Jeanne,  rather  doubtfully.  "Living  with  Uncle 
Roberts  I  have  never  realised  that.  He  always 
speaks  of  them  as  though  he  were  rather  sorry 
for  them  than  otherwise,  and  Louis  never  said 
anything  about  it."  Suddenly  her  face  lit  up 
with  pleasure.  "  But  now  that  Louis  is  rich, 
perhaps  he  will  be  able  to  buy  back  the  Chateau 
de  Courset,  and  the  land  that  belonged  to  his 
ancestors,  and  claim  his  right  to  be  called  the 
Marquis  de  Courset.  You  would  like  to  hear  him 
called  that,  Mrs.  Dunham,  would  n't  you?" 

"I  can't  say  I  should,  Miss  Jane." 

"Not!     But  why?"  said  Jeanne,  in  surprise. 

"Well  ma'am,  since  you  ask  me,  I  have  no 
opinion  of  foreign  titles.  An  honest  English 
marquis  is  a  very  different  thing  to  a  foreign 
marquee." 

"Why  is  it  different?"  asked  Jeanne,  in  a  mor- 
tified tone. 

"I  can't  say  why,  but  so  it  is,  'm.  People 
think  nothing  of  it.  In  fact,  if  anything,  they 
think  the  worse  of  you.  I  hope  the  Captain  will 
be  satisfied  to  stop  as  he  is,  for  if  he  goes  calling 
himself  a  marquee,  or  anything  of  that  kind,  it 's 
my  opinion,"  said  Dunham,  firmly,  "that  as 
likely  as  not,  wherever  the  poor  young  gentleman 
goes,  he  '11  be  taken  for  an  adventurer  or  an  im- 
postor, and  get  suspected  of  being  no  better  than 
he  should." 


CHAPTER  VIII 
THE  CALLER 

HEWITT  threw  open  the  door  of  the  morning- 
room,  and  with  swelling  chest  and  sonorous  tones 
of  deepest  gratification  announced, 

"  The  Duke  of  Monaghan. " 

Jeanne  came  forward  to  greet  her  first  visitor, 
looking  both  shy  and  eager,  and  the  Duke  as 
he  shook  hands,  said, 

"  I  hope  I  need  not  apologise  for  venturing  to 
call,  unasked,  upon  my  cousin." 

It  did  not  occur  to  his  inexperienced  hostess 
that  this  introductory  remark  had  been  almost 
as  carefully  prepared  as  her  own  opening  speech 
to  Mrs.  Wheler. 

"  Indeed,  I  'm  only  surprised  and  delighted, " 
she  said  with  honest  joy,  "I  think  it  most  kind 
and — neighbourly  of  you  to  come." 

"Cousinly!"  he  said,  accepting,  with  a  smile, 
the  low  chair  she  drew  forward  for  him  as  solicit- 
ously as  though  he  were  really  the  helpless 
cripple  she  had  imagined  him  to  be. 

"Do  you  know  that  nobody  has  been  to  see 
me  once  since  I  arrived?"  she  said,  wistfully, 

lit 


THE  LONELY  LADY  113 

"except  professional  gentlemen"  (with  a  sudden 
reminiscence  of  her  aunt's  reproof) "who  do  not 
count  as  visitors." 

"Don't  they  count?"  said  the  Duke,  amused. 

"They  do  not,"  she  said  firmly.  She  felt  that, 
though  the  Rector's  wife  might  make  mistakes, 
old  Miss  Marney  must  know  better  than  this 
youthful  gentleman,  smile  as  he  would. 

Jeanne,  however,  felt  inclined  to  smile  too,  as 
she  looked  at  him. 

It  was  certainly  refreshing  to  see  somebody 
young,  and  the  Duke  looked  very  young  indeed 
to  Jeanne, — hardly  more  than  a  boy. 

He  was  also  pleasant  to  behold.  His  clothes 
were  so  severely  well  cut,  his  collar  so  glossy t 
his  boots  so  spotless,  his  fair  hair  so  closely 
cropped,  his  buttonhole  of  violets  so  fresh. 

Louis  had  always  been  particular  about  his 
clothes. 

Jeanne  smiled  approvingly  at  her  visitor,  and 
he  divined  her  approval  and  was  secretly  pleased, 
not  knowing  that  it  arose  entirely  from  her  fond- 
ness for  seeing  everybody  and  everything  clean 
and  tidy. 

"Do  many  professional  people  come  to  see 
you?"  he  asked  with  polite  curiosity. 

"Not  very  many.  Mr.  Valentine  came  this 
morning,  to  explain  to  me  all  about  the  power 
of  attorney,  you  know,  that  Louis  is  sending  him 
— and  other  business  matters," — with  dignity. 

8 


n4  THE  LONELY  LADY 

"This  house  and  everything  in  it  belongs  to  my 
brother  Louis,  but  Mr.  Valentine  is  to  manage  it 
all  till  he  comes  home,  and  I  am  taking  care  of 
the  furniture  and  pictures.  He  is  a  soldier,  you 
know,  and  now  he  is  in  Somaliland.  He  must 
have  arrived  in  Obbia  by  this  time.  Just  as  he 
was  coming  home  he  was  ordered  there,  from 
South  Africa.  He  was  all  through  the  Boer  War. 
And  never  was  sick  nor  sorry  once,  nor  wounded, 
though  he  was  in  so  many  battles." 

"  He  was  very  lucky, "  said  the  Duke. 

Jeanne  interpreted  his  expression  as  one  of 
regret,  and  answered  it  with  the  outspoken  sym- 
pathy of  a  child: 

"  It  must  have  been  dreadful  for  you  not  to  be 
able  to  go." 

He  coloured,  but  replied  as  simply  as  she  had 
spoken : 

"  Thank  you,  yes,  it  was.  But  both  my  brothers 
went.  It  was  rather  rough  luck  on  you,  was  n't  it, 
his  going?  I  suppose  he  is  your  only  brother." 

"  How  did  you  guess  that? "  she  said,  surprised. 

His  blue  eyes  twinkled  more  than  ever.  He 
was  certainly  a  very  pleasant-looking  young  man, 
though  so  unfortunate  as  to  be  neither  tall  nor 
strong. 

"  He  is  my  only  brother,  and  my  twin.  If  you 
would  like  to  hear  about  him — but  of  course  I 
don't  know  if  you  would  be  interested — still,  he 
is  your  cousin  too,"  she  said.  The  soft  orange- 


OF  GROSVENOR  SQUARE  115 

brown  eyes  glowed  beneath  the  black  lashes,  and 
the  fresh  red  lips  parted,  as  she  looked  at  him,  pa- 
thetically unconscious  of  her  own  eagerness,  yet  ob- 
viously trembling  with  the  hope  that  here,  at  last, 
she  had  found  one  who  would  be  interested  in 
Louis. 

The  Duke  too  was  young,  and  solitary,  and  sym- 
pathetic. He  drew  his  low  chair  a  little  closer 
to  the  Book  of  Beauty  which  lay  upon  the  low 
table  dividing  them. 

Her  freshness  and  sincerity  charmed  him  now 
as  they  had  charmed  him  at  his  first  meeting 
with  her,  when  he  had  realised  instantly  (being, 
in  spite  of  his  youth,  a  man  of  the  world)  that 
her  unconventional  behaviour  arose  from  no 
want  of  modesty,  but  from  inexperience. 

Her  apparent  boldness  of  action  was  as  the 
boldness  of  the  robin  perching  on  the  gardener's 
very  spade — so  timid  that  he  will  fly  at  a  sudden 
movement,  so  confident  that  he  trusts  without 
proof  or  warrant  the  friendship  of  mankind. 

Before  Hewitt  and  William  appeared  with  the 
tea-things,  the  Duke  knew  almost  as  much  about 
his  cousin  Louis  as  Jeanne  did  herself. 

He  learnt  of  his  successes  at  school,  at  Sand- 
hurst, and  in  the  army ;  he  learnt  that  she  had  not 
seen  him  for  five  years — that  she  thought  of  him 
still  as  the  bright,  eager  boy  who  had  left  her 
when  he  was  scarce  twenty  years  old,  and  that  her 
life  and  heart  and  soul  were  filled  with  his  image. 


ii 6  THE  LONELY  LADY 

And  he  wondered  how  much  the  real  Louis  re- 
sembled the  Louis  of  her  faithful  dreams. 

"Look — I  have  his  new  photographs;  the  first 
he  has  had  done  since  he  left  England.  And  he 
is  so  changed  I  can  hardly  believe  it  is  Louis. 
But  oh,  how  glad  I  am  to  have  them, "  said  the 
little  sister,  and  she  fetched,  with  hands  that 
actually  trembled  with  pleasure  and  excitement, 
a  shabby  desk  from  a  corner  where  it  lay  hid 
from  Dunham's  disapproving  eye. 

"  I  brought  it  down  from  my  own  room,  for  it 
gives  me  something  to  do,  when  I  feel  too  dull," 
she  said  apologetically,  "to  sort  and  arrange  his 
letters  and  read  them.  Some  of  them  are  very 
interesting,  at  least  to  me,"  she  added  hurriedly, 
alarmed  lest  the  Duke  should  ask  to  see  them. 
"  Of  course  they  are  rather  private,  for  I  am  the 
only  person  he  has  to  confide  in,  in  the  whole 
world,  and  it  is  just  the  same  with  me.  There  is 
only  Louis,  really.  To-day  I  have  the  first  letter 
he  has  written  since  he  heard  of  Aunt  Caroline's 
death,  and  of  her  leaving  her  great  fortune  to 
him.  Doesn't  it  seem  wonderful?  For  Louis 
always  wished  to  be  rich. " 

" Is  he  very  glad?"  said  the  Duke. 

"  He  is  not  so  glad  but  that  I  thought  he  would 
have  been  gladder,"  she  said,  unconsciously 
betraying  her  disappointment.  "But  Louis  is 
always  original  and  never  takes  things  as  one 
would  expect.  He  is  more  full  of  the  expedition, 


OF  GROSVENOR  SQUARE  117 

and  shipping  the  horses,  than  of  anything  else, 
but  yes — he  is  very  glad.  He  says,  'Now  all 
your  dreams  may  come  true, '  and  that  is  a  great 
deal  for  a  boy,  who  is  apt  to  laugh  at  one's  foolish 
dreams,  you  know." 

The  Duke  looked  at  the  photograph  of  his  new 
cousin,  and  saw  a  tall  young  soldier  in  khaki, 
with  a  face  so  much  older  than  Jeanne's  that  it 
was  difficult  to  believe  him  her  twin  brother. 

A  stern  good-looking  face;  with  marked  eye- 
brows meeting  over  the  bridge  of  an  aquiline  nose, 
and  a  thick  moustache  partially  veiling  the  short 
upper  lip. 

"  He  is  a  fine  fellow,"  said  the  Duke  in  interested 
tones.  "  I  do  not  wonder  you  are  proud  of  him. " 

"Any  one  would  be  proud  of  him,  for  there  is 
nothing  he  cannot  do.  He  could  never  bear 
to  be  beaten,"  she  said,  holding  her  head  high. 

"He  does  not  look  as  though  he  would  ever 
be  beaten.  I  am  sure  he  will  get  on. " 

"If  they  give  him  a  chance,  if  they  are  not 
jealous  of  him, — but  I  am  always  afraid  they 
will  be  jealous — he  is  so  young,  and  so  clever," 
said  Jeanne,  shaking  her  head  over  this  mysterious 
reference  to  the  powers  that  be.  "And  Louis 
is  not  one  to  think  of  his  own  interest.  He  is 
only  too  disinterested,  a  little  too  scornful  and 
quick  to  show  people  what  they  ought  to  do — or 
he  used  to  be ;  but  he  had  very  persuasive  ways  too. 
He  was  the  only  person  who  could  ever  manage 


n8  THE  LONELY  LADY 

Uncle  Roberts.  And  I  daresay  he  has  grown  wiser 
still,  with  all  he  has  been  through,  poor  boy." 

A  tear  rolled  unheeded  down  her  cheek  and 
splashed  on  to  the  little  bundle  of  letters  clasped 
in  her  lap,  as  she  told  him  how  Louis  in  his  poverty 
had  yet  managed  to  insure  his  life  for  his  sister's 
benefit,  and  to  pay  his  debts. 

"  To  think  he  will  never  be  anxious  about  money 
any  more,"  she  said,  wiping  her  eyes.  "It  was 
that  I  could  not  bear,  that  a  boy  like  him  should 
be  anxious ;  it  was  foreign  to  his  nature.  He  was 
so  generous  that  he  could  n't  help  spending,  poor 
boy, — but  it  was  his  only  fault.  And  now  Aunt 
Caroline  has  saved  him  from  those  worries  and 
troubles  that  made  us  wonder  whether  he  would 
ever  be  able  to  stick  to  the  army,  after  all  he  had 
gone  through  to  get  there. " 

She  now  told  him  about  Uncle  Roberts,  and 
the  why  and  wherefore  of  her  arrival  in  Grosve- 
nor  Square,  and  how  much  disappointed  she  was 
in  London  life,  but  he  thought  her  so  pretty  and 
so  earnest  as  she  said  it  that  he  did  not  even  smile. 

Young  people  are  usually  fond  of  talking  about 
themselves,  when  they  find  an  attentive  and 
sympathetic  auditor,  and  perhaps  the  Duke  was 
no  exception  to  the  rule. 

But  he  had  the  advantage  of  Jeanne  in  good- 
breeding,  and  thus  found  himself  constrained  to 
be,  upon  this  occasion,  only  a  listener. 

His  courteous  attention  never  wavered  for  an 


OF  GROSVENOR  SQUARE  119 

instant;  though  it  is  possible  he  might  not  have 
been  so  exemplary  in  his  politeness  had  her  per- 
sonality appealed  to  him  less  strongly.  As  it 
was,  he  enjoyed  the  opportunity  her  conversation 
afforded  him  to  observe  her  at  his  leisure;  as  he 
rested  comfortably  in  poor  Miss  Caroline's  easiest 
chair,  sheltered  by  a  glass  screen  from  the  roaring 
fire  which  Hewitt  had  built  up,  with  a  zeal  pro- 
portionate to  the  visitor's  rank. 

She  was  dressed  in  the  plainest  of  black  mourn- 
ing gowns,  with  snowy  collar  and  wristbands; 
but  her  hands  and  throat  were  white  and  soft 
enough  to  bear  the  contrast. 

He  thought  he  had  never  seen  colouring  so 
pure  with  eyes  and  hair  so  dark ;  nor  half  so  pretty 
an  effect  as  the  pointed  shadows  cast  by  those 
down-cast  black  lashes  upon  the  clear  red  of 
her  cheeks. 

Her  beauty  was  beauty  of  the  round,  childish, 
dimpled  order;  but  she  looked  so  healthy,  so  in- 
nocent and  so  modest,  that  her  little  rusticities 
were  all  "in  the  picture, "  as  the  young  man  told 
himself  in  the  jargon  of  the  day. 

It  was  only  the  setting  that  was  all  wrong. 

This  garish  room  with  its  meaningless  mixture 
of  modern  fashion,  and  relics,  real  or  imitation, 
of  a  by-gone  day. 

This  wistful  creation  of  an  old  woman  trying 
to  identify  herself  with  the  present,  which  she 
neither  understood  nor  cared  for,  instead  of 


120  THE  LONELY  LADY 

clinging  to  the  past  which  was  one  with  her,  and 
to  which  she  belonged. 

Typical  of  Aunt  Caroline  was  the  juxtaposition 
of  her  antiquated  harp  and  a  brand-new  Bech- 
stein  grand  piano;  as  was  the  melange  of  Moore's 
Irish  melodies  and  Bellini's  operas,  with  the 
latest  burlesques  of  the  day,  in  her  music-holder. 

Jeanne  knew  not  a  note  of  music.  Her  studies 
had  not  included  pianoforte  playing;  partly  on 
account  of  Cecilia's  jealousy,  and  partly  because 
the  Rector's  wife  had  pointed  out  that,  since 
there  was  no  piano  at  Coed-Ithel,  it  would  be 
waste  of  time  for  her  to  learn.  She  had  been 
very  glad  to  be  spared  the  trouble,  for  Cecilia's 
scales  and  exercises  did  not  sound  very  tempting, 
and  the  less  so  because  Jeanne  had  an  ear  for 
harmony. 

Miss  Caroline's  new  piano  was  therefore  wasted 
upon  her  niece;  but  the  Duke  was  a  musician, 
and  had  consequently  noted  it  directly  he  entered 
the  apartment  which,  as  he  observed,  made  such 
an  inappropriate  background  for  Jeanne's  rustic 
prettiness. 

So  she  was  a  farmer's  niece.  That  of  course 
accounted  for  it  all.  He  saw  her,  as  in  a  picture, 
at  home  upon  the  mountains,  her  dark  hair  blow- 
ing in  the  wind,  her  red  cheeks  and  dark  eyes 
bright  in  the  sunshine  of  her  native  Wales,  her 
pretty  hands  busied  among  the  flowers  of  a  garden 
bounded  by  tall  hedges  of  clipped  yew — or  working 


OF  GROSVENOR  SQUARE  121 

in  the  cool  dark  dairy  among  the  red  earthen 
pans  of  frothing  milk. 

In  such  places  would  this  simple  maid  be  at 
home,  but  never — never  in  a  modern  drawing- 
room.  Starting  from  a  reverie,  he  found  his 
hostess  inviting  him,  but  with  a  pretty  solicitude 
and  hesitation,  to  visit  the  old  nurseries  if  he  chose. 

"Nothing  is  changed,"  said  little  Jeanne. 
"There  is  the  white  gate  at  the  top  of  the  steep 
staircase,  which  your  father,  I  suppose,  had  put 
up." 

"I  don't  remember  that,"  he  said,  shaking  his 
head. 

"Of  course  not.  It  was  put  up  after — your 
dreadful  accident,"  she  said  with  pitying  eyes 
and  lowered  voice.  "  But  that  is  the  only  change. 
There  are  the  barred  windows,  and  the  nursery- 
rhyme  paper — only  it  is  rather  faded  and  dirty 
I  am  afraid." 

"Ah,  I  recollect  that,"  he  said  quite  eagerly. 
'As  I  walked  up  Pippin  Hill,'  was  my  favourite, 
because  the  pretty  maid  was  so  very  pretty,  and 
the  hill  so  remarkably  steep.  And  the  other  was 
Curly-locks  sitting  on  a  cushion  to  '  sew  a  fine 
seam'!" 

"Yes,  yes,"  said  Jeanne,  delighted.  "But 
there  are  several  others,  Tom  the  Piper's  son, 
and  Simple  Simon." 

"  So  there  were,  I  can  see  it  all  perfectly. " 

"You  have  a  very  good  memory  then,   for 


122  THE  LONELY  LADY 

you  must  have  been  quite  a  baby,  since  it  was 
over  twenty  years  ago. " 

"  I  was  nearly  six  years  old. " 

"Nearly  six!  And  it  was  over  twenty  years 
ago!  Then  you  must  be  as  old  as  I  am,"  she 
said,  astonished.  "Louis  and  I  were  twenty- 
five  in  October." 

"  I  was  twenty-five  last  April, "  he  said  smiling. 
"I  am  even  a  little  older  than  you  are!" 

"And  I  have  been  thinking  of  you  as  quite 
a  boy,  about  eighteen  or  nineteen,"  she  said, 
ingenuously. 

He  would  have  minded  more  had  he  been 
five  years  younger,  and  above  all,  had  she  not 
blushed  as  she  said  it;  as  it  was,  he  rather  enjoyed 
her  discomfiture. 

"  I  am  afraid  I  must  put  off  visiting  the  scene 
of  my  disaster, "  he  said,  smiling,  as  he  rose  from 
the  low  chair  before  the  fire.  "  I  have  trespassed 
upon  your  good  nature  rather  a  long  time  already. 
But  perhaps — I  venture  to  hope — you  will  let 
me  come  again  one  day?" 

He  stood  beside  her,  and  held  the  hand  she 
gave  him  for  a  moment  longer  than  is  quite  usual 
in  shaking  hands;  but  Jeanne  was  too  fluttered 
to  observe  it. 

"Must  you  go?"  she  said  with  sincere  regret. 
"Oh  yes,  please  come  again,  and  let  it  be  soon, 
as  soon  as  you  can;  for  I  should  like  to  ask  you 
so  many  things,  which  it  would  be  easier  to  ask 


OF  GROSVENOR  SQUARE  123 

you  than  Mr.  Valentine,  since  you  are  my  cousin, 
and  young — though  not  so  young  as  I  fancied," 
she  laughed  shyly. 

"It  is  much  easier  to  talk  to  people  of  one's 
own  age, "  said  the  Duke. 

"That  is  just  it.  But  it  is  one  of  my  chief 
faults  that  I  talk  too  much  when  once  I  set  off, 
and  don't  let  the  other  person  talk  at  all;  and 
then  they  go  away,  and  I  recollect  they  have  said 
nothing — only  listened  to  me " 

This  was  so  much  the  true  state  of  the  case  in 
the  present  instance  that  the  Duke  could  not 
help  laughing  outright. 

"  It  will  be  my  turn  to  talk  when  I  come  again, " 
he  said  consolingly. 

"That  reminds  me  of  Louis;  when  he  used  to 
come  home  from  school,  we  took  it  in  turns  by 
the  clock,  to  speak.  Five  minutes  each.  There 
was  so  much  to  say,"  said  Jeanne,  seriously. 
"  I  had  no  idea  I  should  have  had  so  much  to  say 
to  you,  however.  But  all  these  weeks  and  weeks  I 
have  been  so  silent  that  I  suppose  it  all  had  to  come 
out  with  a  rush.  Yet  I  did  want  to  ask  you — 

"Anything  you  will?" 

"Was  it  a  very  wrong  thing  I  did  the  other 
day,  going  to  call  on  Mrs.  Wheler?" 

"Not  in  the  least  wrong.  In  the  country  it 
would  have  been  quite  right.  I  saw  at  once  why 
you  had  mistaken.  It  was  just  that  you  were  not 
used  to  London." 


124  THE  LONELY  LADY 

"Then  what  is  the  rule  here?" 

"  Here  you  may  live  in  a  house  for  twenty  years, 
and  scarcely  know  your  next  door  neighbour  by 
sight." 

"Then  how  do  you  ever  make  new  friends?" 

"People  are  introduced  to  you — and  you  ask 
them  to  call — "  he  said  laughing  and  reddening, 
"just  as  you  might  have  asked  me,  only  you 
didn't." 

"But  I  would  in  a  moment  if  I  had  known  it 
was  a  right  thing  to  do,"  Jeanne  assured  him, 
earnestly. 

"I  hoped  that  was  so,  and  that  is  why,  being 
your  cousin,  I  ventured  to  come,"  he  said,  and 
his  blue  eyes  twinkled  merrily.  "Is  there  any- 
thing else  you  wish  to  ask  me? " 

"Only  this:  I  am  afraid  you  will  think  me 
ignorant,  but  if  I  am  ignorant,  it  is  better  to  tell 
the  truth.  I  do  not  quite  know,  for  instance, 
what  I  ought  to  call  you,  nor  even  know  how  I 
should  address  a  letter  to  you — not  that  I  was 
thinking  of  writing — "  she  added  hurriedly. 

The  Duke  appeared  not  to  notice  her  confusion. 

"I  should  like  you — if  you  would — as  I  am 
undoubtedly  related  to  you  through  the  Marneys 
of  Orsett, — to  call  me  Cousin  Denis — as  my  other 
cousins  do — "  he  said  instantly.  "And  I  am 
afraid  you  will  think  me  very  ignorant,  for  I  was 
obliged  to  ask  for  '  Miss  Marney's  niece  ' !  "  And 
as  I  am  very  bad  at  knowing  how  to  spell  people's 


OF  GROSVENOR  SQUARE  125 

names, — even  when  I  do  know  them,  if  you  will 
be  kind  enough  to  write  down  yours  for  me, 
I  will  write  down  mine  for  you. " 

Jeanne  moved  with  alacrity  to  the  writing 
table  and  set  forth  materials  for  this  purpose. 

"I  should  like  to  call  you  Cousin  Denis  very 
much,  and  I  hope  you  will  call  me  Cousin  Jeanne, " 
she  said  brightening  up.  "Duke"  sounds  so 
unnatural  somehow,  to  me.  And  I  can't  tell 
you  how  glad  I  am  to  find  some  relations.  I 
have  always  longed  to  be  like  other  people,  and 
have  cousins  and  uncles  and  aunts.  Uncle 
Roberts  is  a  bachelor,  you  see,  and  the  last  of 
his  family;  and  Aunt  Caroline  was  a  spinster, 
and  the  last  of  the  Marneys  of  Orsett. " 

"Orsett  Hall  was  burnt  down,  I  remember," 
said  the  Duke.  "I  have  always  heard  it  was 
one  of  the  finest  places  in  the  West  of  England, 
noted  for  its  picture  gallery." 

"Most  of  the  pictures  were  saved,  you  know," 
said  Jeanne.  "They  are  upstairs." 

" I  should  like  to  see  them  some  day,"  he  said 
with  great  animation. 

"  I  will  ask  Mrs.  Pyke  to  uncover  them.  They 
are  all  covered  up." 

"Covered  up,  but  why?" 

"  Mrs.  Pyke  is  afraid  of  the  gold  frames  being 
fly-blown;  and  Aunt  Caroline  was  afraid  the 
London  smoke  would  hurt  them,"  explained 
Jeanne.  "You  see  she  could  not  get  used  to 


i26  THE  LONELY  LADY 

London  smoke  after  living  for  sixty  years  in  the 
country." 

"And  such  a  beautiful  country." 

"Do  you  know  it?" 

"My  mother  has  a  house  on  the  other  side  of 
the  county,  near  Exmoor.  We  used  to  be  there 
a  great  deal." 

"  I  hoped  you  lived  in  London. " 

"I  live  in  Ireland," — he  said  smiling,  "but  we 
are  a  good  deal  in  London  too.  My  mother  likes  it. " 

"I  had  looked  forward  to  London;  but  now 
I  am  quite  sure  I  like  the  country  far,  far  bet- 
ter,"  she  said  mournfully.  "Still — "  she  bright- 
ened up  again.  "  It  is  nicer  now  that  I  know  I 
have  relations  here.  It  is  very  pleasant  to  have 
relations. " 

"  I  hope  you  may  find  me  a  pleasant  relation, " 
he  said  and  he  made  her  another  grave  little  bow, 
in  the  manner  Jeanne  had  obseived  before  to  be 
so  old-fashioned,  and  yet  so  pleasing,  in  a  person 
of  his  years. 

As  he  opened  the  door  she  sprang  forward, 
blushing  even  more  than  ever. 

"Cousin  Denis — would  you — would  you  like 
one  of  his  photographs?"  said  Jeanne.  "He  has 
sent  me  six.  I — I  could  spare  you  a  copy  if  you 
liked." 

"I  should  like  it  of  all  things,"  said  the  Duke, 
and  he  received  it  gratefully. 

"I  wonder  if  that  was  right,  or  too — too  fa- 


OF  GROSVENOR  SQUARE  127 

miliar, "  thought  Jeanne,  as  the  door  closed  upon 
him,  and  she  ran  to  the  bell  and  rang  it,  as  she 
had  observed  Mrs.  Wheler  did,  for  her  departing 
guests.  "Oh!  I  hope  I  have  not  babbled — 
as  Louis  used  to  call  it — too  much.  But  he  was 
so  kind,  and  I  am  sure  he  was  interested.  So 
now  the  Duchess  will  see  Louis's  photo,  for  he 
will  certainly  show  it  to  her.  I  hope  she  will  be 
as  much  struck  with  it  as  poor  Aunt  Caroline  was 
with  the  one  in  my  locket.  Or  more,  since  Louis 
is  handsomer  than  ever.  But  how  he  is  changed 
— it  is  not  his  laughing  face.  The  war  has  aged 
him — or  perhaps  seeing  so  many  of  his  comrades 
die.  Oh,  Louis,  Louis — if  you  would  but  come 
safely  home." 

The  serious  eyes  of  the  photograph  seemed 
to  return  her  gaze,  and  to  suggest  that  thoughts 
unspeakably  sad  and  lofty  lay  behind  that  grave 
young  brow. 

Decidedly  Louis  had  grown  older. 

She  turned  with  relief  to  the  familiar,  boyish 
face  in  the  locket;  now  restored  to  its  resting- 
place  next  her  heart. 

"When  he  talks  and  laughs  with  me — his  dear 
face  will  come  back  to  me  as  it  used  to  be, "  she 
said,  and  the  tears  filled  her  brown  eyes.  "Oh, 
Louis — I  have  waited  so  long  that  I  sometimes 
feel  the  day  will  never  come." 

As  Jeanne  changed  her  day  gown  for  the  plain 


i28  THE  LONELY  LADY 

black  muslin  which  Dunham  had  placed  ready 
for  her,  and  insisted  she  should  wear  every  even- 
ing for  her  solitary  dinner,  she  received,  instead 
of  the  delighted  congratulations  she  expected, 
a  solemn  warning  from  her  self-appointed  maid 
and  guardian. 

"Yes,  ma'am,  I  don't  deny  it  was  attentive 
of  the  young  gentleman  to  call — though  to  my 
thinking  it 's  a  pity  he  should  have  waited  till  my 
poor  lady  was  dead,  what  was  nearer  to  him  than 
ever  you  was,  Miss  Jane — but  like  seeks  like. 
And  Hewitt  tells  me  his  Grace  is  young-looking  for 
his  age,  as  you  are  yourself,  Miss  Jane.  Eighteen 
or  twenty  I  would  give  you,  and  not  a  day  more. " 

"Oh,  Mrs.  Dunham,  I  hope  I  look  older  than 
he  does." 

"  Maybe  so  and  maybe  not.  There  's  his  age 
in  Debrett  for  all  to  see,  and  Hewitt  and  me 
looked  it  out  this  very  day.  But  it's  a  very  distant 
cousinship  if  at  all,  as  Mrs.  Pyke  has  been  telling. 
I  would  have  liked  it  better,  ma'am,  if  the  Duchess, 
his  mamma,  had  come  along  with  him.  I  don't 
hold  much,  ma'am,  with  single  young  gentlemen 
calling  on  single  young  ladies  without  their  mam- 
imas  coming  with  them." 

"Oh,  Mrs.  Dunham,  what  could  be  the  harm?" 
said  Jeanne.  She  felt  inclined  to  cry.  Was  she 
to  shut  the  front  door  in  the  face  of  her  only 
visitor  to  please  Dunham? 

Had  she  made  another  mistake?     People  living 


OF  GROSVENOR  SQUARE  129 

in  Grosvenor  Square  were  governed  by  rules  that 
would  never  occur  to  the  inhabitants  of  Coed-Ithel, 
where  if  one  was  lucky  enough  to  possess  a  cousin, 
he  would  be' made  welcome  as  a  matter  of  course. 

She  thought  of  the  Duke,  his  politeness,  his 
gentleness,  above  all  his  lameness.  How  could 
she  appear  ungrateful  for  the  kindness  he  had 
shown?  She  blushed  as  she  recalled  her  warm 
and  pressing  invitation  to  him  to  call  again  as 
soon  as  might  be.  Jeanne  began  to  feel  Dunham's 
surveillance  a  tiresome  thing;  but  she  had  lived 
under  authority  all  her  life,  and  had  not  the 
courage  to  defy  the  old  woman. 

The  brightness  died  out  of  her  eyes  and 
cheeks,  and  the  dull  weary  expression  returned. 
Her  lips  quivered.  She  yearned  so  terribly  for 
companionship. 

"Is  there  anything  more  I  can  do  for  you, 
ma'am?" 

"Nothing  more,  thank  you,"  said  Jeanne,  with 
sinking  heart. 

Dunham  had  done  enough  for  one  evening, 
was  her  dismal  reflection.  Spoilt  the  recollection 
of  the  first  happy  afternoon  she  had  spent  since 
her  arrival;  and  all  her  anticipations  of  future 
visits  from  her  kind  cousin  Denis. 

"Are  you  quite  sure,  Mrs.  Dunham,"  she  fal- 
tered, "  that  I  ought  not  to  have  visits  from  single 
gentlemen,  who  are  relations — however  nice  and 
polite,  and  well  known  they  may  be?" 


i3o  THE  LONELY  LADY 

"  Not  without  their  mammas  has  called,  ma'am. 
I  'm  very  sure  of  that.  If  you  was  n't  alone  it 
would  be  another  matter." 

"  If  I  was  n't  alone — I  should  n't  want  him," 
said  Jeanne,  almost  petulantly.  "After  all  I 
was  introduced  to  his  mamma,  Mrs.  Dunham, 
and  she  asked  me  to  go  and  see  her. " 

"Then  I  should  go,  ma'am." 

"Would  that  make  it  all  right  for  Cousin — 
for  the  Duke  to  come  and  see  me,  do  you  think?" 

"  It 's  not  for  me  to  advise  my  betters,  ma'am. 
I  hope  I  know  my  place  too  well.  A  hint  is  a 
very  different  thing  to  giving  advice, "  said  Dun- 
ham, closing  her  thin  lips  in  a  manner  which,  as 
Jeanne  knew  by  this  time,  meant  that  either  she 
had  nothing  else  to  say,  or  that,  having  more  in 
her  mind  than  prudence  permitted  her  to  reveal, 
she  intended  to  keep  it  all  to  herself. 

"Mrs.  Dunham  is  a  very  unsatisfactory  com- 
panion, "  sighed  Jeanne. 

As  she  went  down  the  echoing  stone  staircase 
of  the  mournful  empty  house,  and  walked  into 
the  silent  morning-room  to  await  Hewitt's  solemn 
announcement  of  dinner,  she  was  seized  with  a 
sudden  despair. 

"I  won't — I  can't  bear  it  any  longer,"  cried 
Jeanne,  "  I  am  too  wretched  and  solitary.  I 
shall  go  mad  here  all  alone,  waiting  and  waiting 
for  Louis,  and  nobody  allowed  to  come  near  me. 
It  is  all  very  fine  to  say  I  am  taking  care  of  his 


OF  GROSVENOR  SQUARE  131 

furniture  and  his  house,  but  what  do  they  leave 
for  me  to  do?" 

She  looked  wildly  round  for  inspiration,  and 
her  eyes  fell  on  her  shabby  desk,  standing  among 
the  costly  trifles  on  the  occasional  table,  and 
looking  sadly  out  of  place  there. 

Yet  how  solid  and  handsome  she  had  thought  the 
old  leather  case  when  it  stood  on  the  painted 
window  ledge  of  her  attic  at  home. 

At  home. 

The  word  brought  the  inspiration  which  Jeanne 
was  unconsciously  seeking;  it  pointed  out  the 
way  of  escape,  even  for  a  moment,  from  the  in- 
tolerable ennui  of  her  life  in  Grosvenor  Square. 

She  took  an  instant  resolve.  To-morrow  morn- 
ing— would  it  could  be  to-night — she  would 
go  home  to  Coed-Ithel,  and  entreat  her  Uncle 
Roberts  either  to  come  back  with  her,  or  to  let 
her  stay  at  home  till  Louis  returned.  At  least 
Uncle  Roberts  would  not  tell  her  that  it  was  not 
his  place  to  advise  her ;  and  though  his  experience 
of  what  should  or  could  be  done  by  young  ladies 
living  in  Grosvenor  Square  must  be  very  limited 
he  was  nearly  as  old  (in  Jeanne's  eyes) ,  and  quite 
as  sensible  as  Dunham. 

He  had  sometimes  talked  of  his  intention  to  go 
and  see  the  sights  of  London  before  he  died. 

Surely  she  could  put  it  to  him  delicately,  that 
now  was  the  very  time,  since  he  could  not  expect 
to  live  for  ever. 


132  THE  LONELY  LADY 

Jeanne  would  have  been  glad  enough  to  see 
the  sights  of  London  herself — had  she  been  quite 
certain  what  and  where  they  were. 

But  she  had  not  liked  to  enquire,  lest  she  should 
be  suspected  of  hankering  after  amusements 
instead  of  mourning  her  aunt;  her  kind  aunt 
who  had  given  all  she  had  in  the  world  to  Louis. 

Secretly  Jeanne  felt  quite  sure  that  Miss  Caroline 
would  rather  have  sympathised  than  otherwise 
with  her  wish  for  companionship,  and  her  longing 
to  let  a  little  brightness  in  upon  the  dulness  of 
her  life;  but  she  was  not  by  any  means  so  sure 
of  Dunham,  and  it  was  Dunham  who  now  prac- 
tically governed  the  house,  and  had  almost  as- 
sumed Miss  Marney's  place  therein.  Mrs.  Pyke 
was  too  old,  and  Hewitt  too  stupid,  to  contend 
against  her  rule. 

The  old  servants  clung  faithfully  to  their 
duties,  and  watched  with  jealous  eyes  for  the 
least  symptom  of  a  desire  on  the  part  of  the  little 
upstart  stranger  to  rebel  in  the  slightest  degree 
against  the  traditions  of  the  house. 

Jeanne  was  uneasily  conscious  of  their  watch- 
fulness, and  it  increased  her  timidity  and  dis- 
comfort in  her  solitary  state. 

She  respected  Dunham,  and  Pyke,  and  even 
the  serious  upper  housemaid,  who  never,  it  seemed 
to  her,  spoke  at  all;  even  Hewitt  and  William 
and  the  stout  coachman  held  some  share  in  her 
regard.  They  were  all  so  respectable,  so  steady, 


OF  GROSVENOR  SQUARE  133 

and  so  faithful  to  their  duties.  But  she  could 
not  help,  for  all  that,  secretly  looking  forward 
to  the  time  when  Louis  should  descend  like  a 
bombshell  upon  this  dull  and  solemn  household, 
and  scatter  the  old  traditions  and  the  silence 
and  the  solemnity  to  the  winds.  Louis  with 
his  merry  laugh,  and  imperious  will,  and  cheerful 
disregard  of  difficulties. 

Far  from  never  allowing  young  gentlemen  to 
come  near  the  house  without  their  mammas, 
thought  Jeanne,  indignantly  (for  the  phrase  ran- 
kled), she  was  assured  he  would,  on  the  contrary, 
fill  it  with  his  friends  from  morning  till  night ;  and 
Louis  had  many  friends,  for  he  was  constantly 
referring  with  enthusiasm  to  one  or  the  other  of 
them.  A  revelation  was  certainly  in  store  for  the 
old  servants. 

She  took  out  his  last  letter. 

"Of  course  the  cable  couldn't  go  into  detail" 
(Louis  had  written),  "but  it  looks  as  though  our 
hard  times  were  over  for  evermore,  my  Jeannie 
dear.  If  old  Valentine  and  Thingumbob  are 
my  solicitors  now,  (sounds  very  magnificent)  - 
they  will  see  you  have  everything  you  want  in  this 
world,  till  I  can  arrange  to  go  shares  with  you, 
as  of  course  I  shall  when  I  come  home.  I  'm 
writing  them  all  sorts  of  directions  by  this  very 
mail".  .  .  (That  was  so  like  Louis!  always 
perfectly  ready  and  willing  to  give  orders,  where 


i34  THE  LONELY  LADY 

Jeanne  would  have  hesitated  and  scrupled  for 
weeks).  .  .  "Oh  my  Jeannie,  if  you  knew  what 
an  immense  load  this  had  lifted  off  my  chest.  God 
bless  poor  Aunt  Caroline.  I  shall  be  able  to  write 
more  when  I  get  your  letters  and  Valentine's.  I 
hear  from  my  boss  here  that  he  knows  the  firm, 
and  it  's  a  first-rate  west-end  firm,  so  I  can  trust 
the  old  boy  straight  away,  which  is  a  comfort. 
Thank  God  it  came  just  before  I  started,  which 
enables  me  to  do  all  necessary  business  before  I  leave, 
besides  sending  me  off  with  a  light  heart.  My 
chief  advises  me  to  send  old  Valentine  a  power  of 
attorney  which  he  thinks  will  facilitate  matters  for 
you  greatly.  .  .  I  have  been  so  occupied  that  I  've 
had  no  moment  to  sit  down  and  write  a  coherent 
letter,  and  now  that  I  try  I  can't  concentrate  my 
thoughts.  I  went  on  board  the  ship  this  morning, 
and  after  three  years'  blissful  forgetfulness  of  ships, 
the  same  old  feeling  of  nausea  came  over  me  that 
always  assails  one  as  one  gets  the  first  whiff  of  engine- 
room,  kitchens,  etc.,  and  all  the  vile  things  that  make 
life  on  board  intolerable  to  many  landsmen.  .  .  . 

"  /  am  so  anxious  for  your  first  letter,  writ  on 
receipt  of  my  telegram  about  Somaliland.  I  hope 
you  won't  be  too  disappointed,  my  darling  Jeannie, 
but  quite  cheerful  when  you  think  it  is  to  be  but  a 
short  trip.  No  more  three-year  wars,  I  hope. 
If  you  can  find  any,  send  me  some  maps  of  the 
country  I  'm  going  to,  but  nothing  else,  however 
rich  we  may  be  ! 


OF  GROSVENOR  SQUARE  135 

"God  bless  you,  my  gentle  Jeannette;  think 
what  times  we  shall  have  when  we  meet.  I  've  no 
end  of  surprises  in  store  for  you,  and  how  we  will 
make  the  money  fly  !  ...  /  am  forgetting  this  is  a 
sad  time  for  you,  though,  and  you  may  be  crying 
your  dear  eyes  out  for  poor  Aunt  Caroline.  But 
for  my  sake  cheer  up,  and  be  as  happy  as  ever  you 
can.  I  hope  I  shall  find  letters  from  you  waiting 
at  Obbia.  ..." 

Louis  bade  her  cheer  up;  and  if  he  were  here, 
he  would  understand  in  a  moment  how  utterly 
impossible  was  cheerfulness  under  the  circum- 
stances, for  his  doleful  and  isolated  little  sister. 

With  beating  heart  she  rang  the  bell,  and 
desired  William  to  say  that  the  carriage  would 
be  wanted  first  thing  in  the  morning  to  take  her 
to  Paddington. 

"He  will  tell  Hewitt,  and  Hewitt  will  tell 
Mrs.  Dunham,  and  she  will  tell  Mrs.  Pyke,  and 
so  the  ice  will  be  broken,"  she  thought,  trium- 
phantly. "That  will  make  it  easier  for  me  to 
just  say  casually  to  Mrs.  Dunham,  at  bedtime, 
that  I  have  made  up  my  mind  rather  suddenly 
to  go  home  and  see  Uncle  Roberts  for  a  couple  of 
nights  or  so.  I  am  very  glad  I  have  settled  it. 
Now  there  can  be  no  drawing  back  ";  and  the 
lonely  lady,  outwardly  composed,  but  inwardly 
quaking,  presently  sat  down  to  her  solitary  meal. 


CHAPTER  IX 
THE  MOUNTAIN  FARM 

COED-ITHEL  stood  in  the  middle  of  an  orchard; 
a  plain  stone-tiled  farmhouse  with  no  pretence  to 
an  approach,  save  a  track  over  the  grass  from 
the  yew-shadowed  gate  to  the  door. 

A  low,  uneven  wall,  built  without  mortar, 
of  great  boulders  and  slabs  of  stone,  coated  with 
moss,  and  sprouting  with  hardy  ferns  and  penny- 
wort, enclosed  the  orchard;  and  though  the  old 
garden  of  the  Duke's  imagination  was  non- 
existent, there  was  a  large  plot  of  ground,  fenced 

in  from  the  chickens,  at  the  back  of  the  homestead 

> 

which  was  devoted  mainly  to  growing  potatoes, 
cabbages,  and  onions,  but  was  also  well  stocked 
with  the  roots  of  old-fashioned  herbs  and  cot- 
tager's flowers. 

It  had  not  occurred  to  Jeanne  to  telegraph 
and  warn  her  uncle  of  her  intended  visit;  a  tele- 
gram, as  she  very  well  knew,  would  have  startled 
him  much  more  than  her  sudden  appearance; 
besides  entailing  a  payment  of  porterage  which 
would  have  annoyed  him  considerably. 

136 


THE  LONELY  LADY  137 

Since  Dunham  had  refused  to  permit  her  to 
make  a  brown  paper  parcel  of  necessaries  to 
carry  under  her  arm  (which  would  have  been 
much  more  convenient)  and  had,  instead,  insisted 
upon  encumbering  her  with  her  late  aunt's 
travelling  bag — Jeanne  had  been  obliged  to  leave 
her  belongings  at  the  station  to  be  called  for  later 
by  John  Evans,  her  uncle's  man. 

She  carried  in  her  hand  only  her  shabby  desk, 
containing  the  family  treasures,  from  which, 
true  to  her  brother's  injunctions,  she  would  not 
be  parted. 

The  daylight  was  beginning  to  fail  as  she 
walked  rapidly  along  the  main  road,  and  turned 
into  the  narrow  lane,  which  led  upwards  to  the 
open  path  over  the  hills  to  Coed-Ithel. 

A  joyous  sense  of  freedom  regained  caused  her 
heart  to  lighten  and  her  face  to  glow;  as  with 
the  ease  of  youth  and  strength,  and  long  habit, 
she  climbed  the  steep  and  stony  track  over  the 
mountain,  pausing  now  and  then  to  cast  a  glance 
of  recognition  at  the  familiar  landscape. 

Breathless,  but  beaming,  she  presently  pushed 
open  the  orchard  gate,  sped  across  the  grass, 
lifted  the  latch  of  the  farmhouse  door,  and 
stepped  into  the  kitchen. 

A  pleasant  sense  of  home-coming,  never  before 
experienced,  brought  the  tears  to  her  glad  brown 
eyes. 

She  had  not  known  that  the  familiar  place  of 


138  THE  LONELY  LADY 

her  childhood  was  dear  to  her,  before  she  went 
to  London.  Often  and  often  had  she  and  Louis 
grumbled  over  its  smallness,  its  homeliness,  and 
its  distance  from  Tref-goch,  once  the  centre  of 
life  to  both. 

Now  its  very  remoteness  from  the  dwelling- 
houses  of  other  men  seemed  to  make  it  more 
truly  a  place  of  rest. 

She  closed  the  door  and  came  softly  round  the 
old  solid  oaken  screen,  built  into  the  wall,  that 
sheltered  her  uncle's  patchwork  covered  arm- 
chair from  draught. 

One  half  of  the  well-scrubbed  white  deal  table 
was  laid  for  tea.  A  big  loaf,  a  black-handled 
knife,  a  square  lump  of  fresh  yellow  butter, 
a  red  earthen  pitcher  of  milk,  and  a  pot  of 
jam. 

The  black  teapot  stood  warming  on  the  hob, 
and  the  kettle  was  boiling. 

Well-known  sounds  in  the  back  kitchen  told 
her  that  Uncle  Roberts  had  come  in,  and  was 
cleaning  himself  at  the  pump. 

Not  wishing  to  startle  him  too  much,  she  rapped 
on  the  wooden  screen  with  her  knuckles,  and  stood 
there  smiling  and  dimpling. 

Uncle  Roberts  came  forth  immediately,  clump- 
ing heavily  across  the  tiled  floor  of  the  back 
kitchen  in  his  heavy  boots,  wiping  his  hands  with 
a  cloth — and  peering  under  his  bushy  brows  to 
see  who  it  was. 


OP  GROSVENOR  SQUARE  139 

"  I  've  come  to  pay  you  a  visit,  Uncle, "  said 
Jeanne. 

Llewellyn  Roberts  was  not  a  demonstrative 
man ;  he  endured  the  kiss  his  niece  bestowed  upon 
his  hairy  cheek  with  equanimity,  and  said,  "  Well, 
to  be  sure!"  in  surprise. 

It  did  not  occur  to  him  to  express  any  pleasure 
at  her  advent,  but  Jeanne  knew  him  well  enough 
to  be  quite  sure  he  was  glad  to  see  her. 

"You  got  my  letter,  Uncle,  didn't  you,  about 
Louis  going  to  Somaliland?" 

"I  got  it  right  enough,"  said  Uncle  Roberts. 

He  went  to  the  bottom  of  the  deal  staircase  and 
called  loudly, 

"Sally  Morgan!  Here's  Jenny  come  home," 
and  then  with  a  nod,  retired  to  the  back  kitchen 
to  complete  his  ablutions. 

Granny  Morgan  was  less  impassive  than  the 
farmer. 

She  was  a  rosy,  little  old  woman,  with  a  white 
cap  tied  under  her  chin,  and  a  short,  full  woollen 
skirt  cut  well  above  her  blue  stockings  and  neat 
clogs. 

Though,  like  the  farmer,  she  loved  Louis  the 
best,  she  was  yet  very  fond  of  Jeanne. 

"Well,  to  be  sure,  my  deary,  this  is  a  surprise. 
So  here  you  be  come  home.  Just  in  time  for 
your  tea —  '  she  kissed  Jeanne  heartily.  "  Have 
you  brought  any  news,  deary?" 

"Louis  was  just  starting  for  Somaliland  when 


i4o  THE  LONELY  LADY 

he  last  wrote,  Granny,  and  he  says  it  won't  be 
long  before  he  comes  home. " 

"  Oh,  my,  what  a  day  't  will  be — the  lads  down 
to  Pen-y-waun  be  going  to  carry  him  shoulder 
high  the  day  he  comes — they  talk  of  fireworks 
and  all  sorts.  And  he  '11  be  grander  than  ever, 
with  all  this  money. " 

"It  won't  change  him,  Granny.'.' 

"  No,  it  won't,  my  deary,  for  the  lad  's  not  the 
sort  to  change.  Well,  if  I  did  n't  always  say  he 
was  bom  with  a  silver  spoon  in  his  mouth.  It  's 
to  be  hoped  they  won't  be  keeping  him  out  there 
much  longer." 

Then  she  raised  her  voice  and  cried  to  the  back 
kitchen, 

"Roberts,  your  tea  's  waiting." 

She  poured  the  boiling  water  into  the  teapot 
and  set  it  on  the  table. 

"You'll  be  wanting  something  after  your 
journey,  deary.  Dontee  stop  for  nobody,  but 
just  set  to." 

But  Jeanne  knew  better  than  to  incur  her 
uncle's  displeasure  by  beginning  before  he  had 
said  grace. 

Uncle  Roberts  stood  in  his  place,  and  asked 
a  blessing  with  his  eyes  shut,  and  Granny  Morgan 
put  the  bread  platter  at  his  elbow. 

Jeanne  had  not  enjoyed  a  meal  so  much  for 
weeks. 

How  delicious  to  her  the  home-made  crusty 


OF  GROSVENOR  SQUARE  141 

bread,  the  yellow  butter  slightly  salted!  She 
abjured  the  tea,  and  drank  her  accustomed 
measure  of  new  milk,  from  her  own  blue  china 
mug,  inscribed  in  gilt  letters,  "A  present  from 
Monmouth. " 

Uncle  Roberts  was  evidently  cudgelling  his 
brains  for  the  reason  of  his  niece's  sudden  ap- 
pearance; but-  being  chary  of  words,  preferred 
thinking  to  asking  questions. 

Presently  he  brought  forth  the  result  of  his 
cogitations. 

"  Be  there  anything  wrong  with  this  fine  for- 
tune his  aunt  left  to  Louis?" 

"Oh  no,  Uncle.  Mr.  Valentine,  the  lawyer, 
says  it  is  as  safe  as  the  Bank  of  England. " 

"Dontee  get  putting  your  trust  in  lawyers," 
said  Uncle  Roberts,  gloomily. 

"They  have  been — I  mean  the  firm — lawyers 
to  the  Marneys  of  Orsett  for  three  generations, " 
said  Jeanne. 

"That  sounds  respectable,  farmer,"  said 
Granny  Morgan,  who  was  of  an  optimistic 
disposition. 

Uncle  Llewellyn  allowed  it  to  be  in  Mr.  Valen- 
tine's favour. 

"  Who  's  taking  care  of  this  fine  house,  now 
you  've  come  away?"  he  asked,  rather  anxiously. 

"The  servants,"  said  Jeanne. 

"  You've  been  and  left  Louis's  house  to  servants. 
Why  't  is  chock  full  of  valuable  things,  baint  it?" 


142  THE  LONELY  LADY 

said  Uncle  Roberts.  "They  ought  to  be  took 
care  of. " 

"But  there  are  fifteen  servants  to  take  care 
of  them,  Uncle." 

"Farmer!  you  baint  reasonable,"  said  Mrs. 
Morgan.  "Them  upper  servants  aren't  like  the 
girls  we  keep.  Was  n't  it  on  the  letter  you  sent, 
my  deary,  that  the  housekeeper  or  such  had 
been  with  the  old  lady  forty  or  fifty  year?" 

"They  have  all  been  with  her  for  years  and 
years.  Oh  Uncle,  if  you  could  see  how  respect- 
able and  to  be  trusted  they  are,"  said  Jeanne, 
almost  appalled  by  such  doubts.  "Besides," 
with  a  perception  that  no  words  of  hers  could 
convey  the  full  measure  of  Pyke's  and  Dunham's 
respectability  to  her  uncle,  "  if  it  comes  to  that, 
Uncle,  the  lawyer's  clerks,  or  the  Government, 
or  somebody — have  taken  lists  of  everything  in 
the  house,  down  to  the  very  spoons. " 

"That  will  be  for  probate,"  said  Uncle  Llewel- 
lyn. "These  'ere  death  doos  will  come  pretty 
heavy  on  Louis,  I'm  thinking. " 

"  But  you  've  always  held  the  rich  should  be 
taxed,  have  n't  you,  Uncle? "  said  Jeanne,  timidly. 

"In  the  abstrack, — yes" — said  Uncle  Roberts 
pulling  his  red  beard.  "Tax  the  rich,  I  says — 
in  the  abstrack." 

Uncle  Llewellyn  did  not  like  argument;  which 
being  interpreted,  meant  that  he  liked  to  state 
his  own  opinion,  but  did  not  wish  to  hear  the 


OP  GROSVENOR  SQUARE  143 

opinion  of  any  one  else ;  so  his  womenkind  were 
respectfully  silent,  and  he  recovered  his  spirits. 

"  But  I  daresay  there  '11  be  plenty  left. " 

"Mr.  Valentine  says  Louis  will  be  very  rich." 

"  H'm"  said  Mr.  Roberts,  and  it  was  plain  that 
he  was  not  altogether  delighted  at  the  prospect. 

"What  fair  beats  my  understanding  is — why 
the  old  woman  didn't  leave  her  money  to  you," 
he  said,  thumping  the  table.  "The  lad  being 
started  and  doing  well  for  hisself,  and  having 
me  to  look  to  besides,  and  you  being  with  her. 
It  makes  me  feel  fair  evil  to  think  of  it.  Did  she 
take  anything  amiss  with  you?" 

"  No,  indeed,  uncle,  we  were  the  best  of  friends. 
Mr.  Valentine  said  it  was  because  she  liked  me 
so  much  that  she  decided  to  alter  her  will,  and 
leave  her  money  to  Louis  instead  of  to  charities. " 

"  'T  was  a  rum  way  of  showing  her  liking  for 
you. " 

"  Oh,  Uncle  Roberts,  you  know  it  comes  to  just 
the  same  thing.  Louis  and  me!  I  would  rather 
Louis  had  it." 

"You  was  all  for  giving  up  everything  to  him, 
deary,  all  your  life.  But  you  see  if  he  does  n't 
make  it  up  to  you  when  he  comes  home.  Wed- 
nesday's children  is  all  for  loving  and  giving,  and 
you  was  both  born  of  a  Wednesday. " 

Uncle  Roberts  grunted,  and  pushed  back  his 
chair. 

When  tea  was  over,  and  as  Jeanne  assisted 


144  THE  LONELY    LADY 

her  to  wash  up  the  tea-things,  Mrs.  Morgan  ex- 
plained the  cause  of  the  farmer's  depression. 

"  He  's  been  worritting  hisself  like  ever  since 
the  news  came,  and  no  wonder.  There  he  was, 
thinking  that  the  lad  would  come  after  him  here ; 
and  all  his  affairs  settled  so  he  would  n't  have 
nothing  to  fret  over  on  his  death-bed  when  his 
time  do  come  as  come  it  must.  And  quite  pleased 
to  think  your  aunt  should  have  you  up  to  town 
to  make  a  lady  of  you  and  provide  for  you;  and 
now  he  's  all  unsettled.  I  know  his  mind  mis- 
gives him  but  the  boy  will  be  took  up  with  this 
fine  fortune  and  look  down  on  the  farm — like ;  and 
yet  he  can't  abear  to  be  at  the  trouble  and  expense 
of  going  over  to  Tref-goch  and  letting  Lawyer 
Williams  alter  his  will.  '  Sally  Morgan, '  he  says 
to  me,  '  I  thought  that  was  over  and  done  with. ' 
He  've  not  been  the  same  man  since.  Thinking 
maybe  't  is  you  as  ought  to  have  the  farm  now, 
in  justice." 

"Oh,  don't  let  him  alter  anything.  But  I'll 
tell  Louis  to  write  to  him,  for  he  will  never  listen 
to  you  or  me, "  said  Jeanne.  "  But  if  the  Rector 
would  advise  him  to  put  off  making  any  changes 
till  Louis  comes  home,  that  would  be  the  best. " 

"Dear  heart,  the  Rector  and  his  wife  have 
been  away  this  many  weeks.  Most  ever  since 
you  left." 

"Away!" 

"  'T  is  that  Cissie  at  the  bottom  of  it  all.     They 


OF  GROSVENOR  SQUARE  145 

say  her  would  n't  answer  her  mother's  letters, 
so  poor  Mrs.  Da  vies  at  last  her  took  to  her  bed 
with  grief  and  spite,  to  think  her  own  daughter 
should  treat  her  so.  And  she  couldn't  keep  it 
to  herself,  for  Molly  Jones  at  the  Post-office  her 
spread  it  abroad  as  Mrs.  Da  vies  wrote  five  letters 
and  a  post  card  running,  and  never  a  one  come 
back  from  Mrs.  Watson  for  her." 

"But  why  won't  she  write?" 

"They  say  she's  too  stuck  up;  but  perhaps 
't  is  just  that  she  's  took  up  with  her  long  family, 
and  got  sick  of  wasting  so  much  money  on  stamps, 
for  they  say  she's  a  long  ways  off  in  South  America 
travelling  with  her  old  gentleman.  Mrs.  Da  vies 
was  always  terrible  over-fond  of  Cissie,  and  now 
the  girl 's  paying  her  out  for  it.  'T  is  always  the 
way.  But  she  was  that  bad,  poor  thing,  as  the 
doctor  advised  her  should  go  to  foreign  parts. 
Ah,  well,  I  miss  her.  for  she  gave  me  many  a  box 
of  patent  medicine  one  way  and  another,  and 
my  inside  being  not  what  it  was,  needs  a  lot  of 
physic. " 

But  Jeanne  grew  impatient  of  the  symptoms 
Mrs.  Morgan  now  proceeded  to  describe  in  detail, 
and  brought  the  conversation  back  to  her  uncle. 

"Yes,  he  be  terrible  interested  with  all  the  lad 
sends,  though  he  baint  fond  of  writing  letters  nor 
yet  of  reading  them,  as  a  rule.  But  he  boasts 
away  when  he  thinks  I  are  n't  listening,  to  John 
Jones  and  Davy  Griffiths,  whenever  they  comes 


146  THE  LONELY  LADY 

here.  Men  's  all  alike,  my  deary;  they  be  ashamed 
of  loving  their  own  flesh  and  blood  till  they  be 
away  from  them,  and  then  out  it  comes — willy 
nilly." 

She  nodded  and  winked  at  Jeanne  when  Uncle 
Llewellyn  grumbled  at  having  to  send  John 
Evans  all  the  way  to  the  station  for  Jeanne's  bag. 

"  Nice  fine  lady  ways  you  've  got  into,  Jenny, " 
he  said,  shaking  his  head  at  her. 

"There  's  Louis's  photographs  in  the  bag;  they 
were  too  big  to  fit  into  my  desk.  He  was  photoed 
before  leaving  South  Africa,"  she  breathed. 

"What  was  that  for?" 

"  For  me — and  for  you,  Uncle.  He  's  changed 
ever  so;  as  one  would  expect  in  so  many  years," 
she  said,  with  her  pretty  timid  smile. 

Uncle  Roberts  made  no  answer,  but  she  heard 
him  presently  shouting  to  John  Evans  to  make 
haste,  and  not  be  all  night  fetching  the  things 
up  from  the  station. 

Jeanne  finding  herself  alone  in  her  little  attic 
beneath  the  roof,  hung  the  miniatures  again  on 
the  brass  hooks  Louis  had  placed  for  them  long 
ago,  over  the  tiny  fireplace.  She  was  for  the 
first  time  struck  by  the  incongruity  of  their 
surroundings. 

What  had  her  silk-clad,  jewel-decked,  powdered, 
beribboned  ancestors  to  do  with  this  white  washed 
room  and  flock  paper? 


OF  GROSVENOR  SQUARE  147 

How  very,  very  small  and  poor  it  all  looked! 
How  hard  the  narrow  bed,  and  rough  the  cotton 
sheets ;  how  small  and  lumpy  the  pillow,  stuffed 
with  poultry  feathers  by  old  Granny  Morgan's 
wrinkled  hard-working  hands. 

Jeanne  blushed  with  shame  at  herself  for 
noticing  such  things,  and  for  the  reflection  that 
crossed  her  mind  that  dear  old  Granny  was  much 
less  refined  in  speech  and  appearance  than  Dun- 
ham, and  would  probably  courtesy  to  Mrs.  Pyke 
in  her  black  silk  gown  and  Chantilly  lace  cap. 
Was  it  possible  that  the  old  woman's  endless 
stories  of  her  ailments  had  become  fatiguing 
instead  of  interesting  to  hear;  or  that  she  could 
draw  comparisons  between  the  manner  of  serving 
meals  in  Grosvenor  Square  and  in  the  farmhouse 
kitchen,  to  the  disadvantage  of  the  latter? 

The  pricking  of  her  conscience  reminded  her 
of  many  a  reproof  she  had  bestowed  upon  Louis 
in  the  past,  for  grumbling  when  he  returned  from 
school  or  college,  at  some  of  the  primitive  domes- 
tic arrangements  at  the  hillside  farm;  and  it 
reminded  her  also  of  the  sweet-tempered  meek- 
ness with  which  he  had  received  her  ignorant 
assurances  of  their  perfection. 

How  little  she  had  known  of  the  world  then! 
She  thought  she  knew  a  great  deal  now,  and 
kneeling  very  humbly  by  the  narrow  bedstead, 
prayed  God  not  to  allow  her  experiences  of 
grandeur  or  luxury  to  make  her  proud,  or  dis- 


148  THE  LONELY  LADY 

dainful  of  the  lowly  roof  which  had  sheltered  her 
childhood. 

To  that  prayer  she  added  her  passionate  en- 
treaties for  her  brother's  safe  and  speedy  return. 

How  often  she  had  knelt  beside  that  bed,  sob- 
bing and  praying,  through  the  dark  days  of  the 
South  African  War.  And  here  was  Louis  going 
blithely  forth  to  fresh  danger.  She  thought  of 
his  words : 

"  God  has  been  very  good  to  me.  Why  should 
this  luck  come  to  me,  when  every  fellow  out  here 
would  give  anything  to  go?" 

"Why,    indeed?"    thought    Jeanne,   ruefully. 

As  she  blew  out  the  candle  and  laid  her  brown 
head  on  the  small,  hard  pillow,  she  shivered  a  little, 
for,  though  the  weather  was  surprisingly  mild 
for  the  end  of  January,  yet  the  fireless  attic  was 
a  great  deal  colder  in  this  fresh  atmosphere,  than 
her  luxurious  bedroom  in  Grosvenor  Square. 

The  forlorn  sense  of  being  again  alien  to 
her  surroundings  returned  upon  her  in  the 
darkness. 

She  was  fond  of  Uncle  Roberts,  but  she  had 
nothing  in  common  with  him,  and  had  talked 
more  to  Aunt  Caroline  in  a  few  hours  than  to  her 
uncle  in  her  whole  life  time.  Why,  indeed,  had 
she  not  talked  less  and  listened  more  ?  she  thought 
remorsefully. 

Cousin  Denis  was  even  more  companionable 
than  Aunt  Caroline,  partly  because  he  inspired 


OF  GROSVENOR  SQUARE  149 

her,  in  spite  of  his  dukedom,  with  less  awe,  partly 
because  he  was  of  her  own  generation. 

Was  it  because  the  descendant  of  the  de  Coursets 
had  more  natural  affinity  with  these  fine  people 
than  with  the  sturdy,  honest  farmer  to  whom 
she  had  been  all  her  life  indebted  for  her  daily 
bread?  Jeanne  hoped  earnestly  that  her  feelings 
held  nothing  of  ingratitude. 

With  all  her  might  she  respected  Uncle  Roberts ; 
respected  him  in  spite  of  his  oddity,  his  silence, 
his  fiery  bristling  unkempt  hair  and  beard,  his 
lengthy  expositions  of  the  Scriptures,  his  con- 
tempt for  everything  he  did  not  understand;  and 
all  these  things  had  been  sore  trials  in  their  time 
to  Louis  and  herself. 

She  respected  his  independence,  his  piety,  his 
industry,  his  solid,  stolid  kindness  of  heart,  his 
stern  uprightness. 

Yet  now  that  she  had  seen  him  again  she  won- 
dered how  she  had  thought  it  possible  to  ask  his 
advice. 

When  had  she  or  Louis  asked  counsel  of  Uncle 
Roberts? 

It  had  never  occurred  to  either  of  them,  in 
their  confident  youth,  and  with  their  consciousness 
of  a  superior  education,  but  that  they  must  know 
better  than  he. 

"  Still — I  will  ask  him ;  for  there  is  nobody  else, " 
Jeanne  finally  decided,  after  an  hour's  wakeful- 
ness,  and  anxious  pondering  over  the  situation; 


i5 o  THE  LONELY  LADY 

but  her  mind  was  filled  with  misgivings  as  she 
fell  asleep. 

In  the  early  morning,  waking  to  sunshine, 
she  forgot  all  her  troubles  and  went  out  rejoicing. 

She  climbed  the  rocky  grass  slopes  above  Coed- 
Ithel,  among  the  dead  bracken,  to  the  source  of 
the  mountain  torrent  that  supplied  the  farm 
with  water,  finding  its  way  thence  to  the  great 
river  which  ran  through  the  valley  below;  there 
had  been  heavy  rains,  and  the  stream  was  doubled 
in  volume,  rushing  loudly  over  the  moss-grown 
rocks  which  impeded  its  course,  and  foaming  and 
seething  round  every  obstacle. 

Though  the  sky  was  of  a  brillant  blue,  the  sun, 
newly  risen  over  the  opposite  mountain,  was 
hidden  by  a  wandering  army  of  purple  clouds; 
which,  passing  over  the  valley,  cast  its  deep 
shadow  on  the  brown  hillsides. 

The  song  of  the  birds,  deceived  by  the  un- 
seasonable mildness  into  the  belief  that  spring 
was  closer  at  hand,  resounded  far  and  near. 

Just  below  her  glistened  the  slab-tiled  roof  of 
the  farm,  and  its  outhouses,  also  built  and  roofed 
with  grey  stone,  and  held  together  by  hundred- 
year-old  stems  of  giant  ivy,  which  like  a  thousand 
hairy  snakes  coiled  about  them,  holding  aloft  a 
heavy  weight  of  luxuriant  polished  foliage  above 
the  reach  of  the  farmer's  shears. 

She  looked  down  upon  the  farm,  which  appeared 


OF  GROSVENOR  SQUARE  151 

very  small  and  solitary,  standing  in  the  bare 
orchard;  and  a  long  way  farther  down  yet, 
into  the  valley  below. 

The  distant  saw-mill's  steady  hum  came  clearly 
to  her  ear  through  the  still  air;  not  a  breath 
stirred;  and  from  the  little  white  homes  dotted 
over  the  opposite  mountain  side,  the  thin  blue 
smoke  shot  steadily  upwards  against  the  leafless 
trees. 

What  sound  more  cheerful  than  the  rushing 
of  the  mountain  stream,  through  this  country  of 
ivy-grown,  moss-covered  stone  walls  and  crum- 
bling ruins;  of  wild  bracken,  royal  fern,  and  red 
soil;  of  emerald  mistletoe  crowning  gnarled  and 
lichened  apple  trees;  of  solemn,  giant  firs,  and 
sombre,  twisted,  aged  yews? 

As  Jeanne  climbed  the  mountain  path,  and 
turned  to  look  yet  again  upon  the  wide  stretch 
of  cultivated  country  below,  the  sun  flooded  the 
valley,  and  the  purple  shadows  of  the  cloud 
fleeted  across  the  hills  and  vanished ;  leaving  brown 
wood,  green  field,  and  wet  glistening  roads  alike 
gilded  with  the  brightness  of  the  morning 
glory. 

It  caught  the  brown  river,  bubbling  over  the 
weirs,  and  turned  the  sparkling  ripples  to  flashing 
diamonds;  it  caught  the  red-brown  plough-land, 
the  red-brown  brushwood,  and  the  red-brown 
fern  dying  on  the  hills, — and  their  ruddiness 
grew  transparent  as  fire.  It  caught  the  smoke 


iS2  THE  LONELY  LADY 

from  the  mop-stick  factory  in  the  village,  and 
turned  it  into  wreaths  of  floating  silver. 

Jeanne  thought  of  the  London  fog,  and  stretched 
her  arms  above  her  head,  and  laughed  aloud  for 
gladness  as  she  ran  down  the  hill  again,  and 
entered  the  bare  orchard  where  sheets  and  sheets 
of  snowdrops,  with  their  white  and  green  bells, 
were  drooping  in  the  sunshine,  the  only  flower 
visible  save  a  solitary  aconite  or  so  in  the  garden, 
and  the  burden  of  yellow,  scentless,  winter  jas- 
mine nailed  against  the  wall. 

"Have  ye  gone  clean  daft,  Jenny?"  said  Uncle 
Roberts,  regarding  her  with  amaze,  as  she  dropped 
on  her  knees  in  the  wet  grass  to  gather  the  snow- 
drops. "One  would  think  ye'd  never  seen  the 
place  before." 

"  I  have  never  missed  it  before, "  Jeanne  said. 
"  Oh,  Uncle  Roberts,  I  want  to  ask  your  advice — 
if  you  could  spare  a  moment  to  talk  to  me." 
She  was  surprised  at  her  own  boldness. 

"  D  'ye  think  I  've  time  to  stand  talking  this 
hour  of  the  day?"  said  Uncle  Roberts;  and  he 
refused  to  take  his  eyes  off  John  Evans,  who 
was  unloading  the  split  trunks  of  dead  apple 
trees  from  the  cart,  and  carrying  them  in  to  the 
woodshed. 

After  supper  that  evening  the  farmer  proved 
more  amenable. 


OF  GROSVENOR  SQUARE  153 

Jeanne  fetched  him  his  pipe,  and  filled  it  for 
him,  and  gave  Granny  Morgan  a  look  which  was 
a  preconcerted  signal  between  them,  and  the  old 
woman  slipped  up-stairs,  nothing  loth,  to  her 
well-earned  slumbers. 

Jeanne  brought  her  wooden  stool  and  sat  at 
her  uncle's  knee,  as  though  she  were  a  little  girl 
again;  but  now  she  felt  much  older  and  wiser 
and  more  experienced  than  he,  even  though  she 
was  about  to  ask  his  advice. 

He  glanced  down  upon  her  little  bent  brown 
head,  and  the  glance  was  not  untender;  in  fact 
it  was  as  near  a  caress  as  a  glance  could  be;  but 
Jeanne  did  not  see  it,  and  it  did  not  trouble  Uncle 
Roberts  in  the  least  that  she  should  not  know 
how  kindly  he  thought  of  her ;  probably  he  thought 
it  would  have  been  bad  for  her  to  learn  the  extent 
of  his  fatherly  affection  for  her  and  her  brother. 

Then  he  smoked  in  peace,  and  had  Jeanne  not 
made  haste  to  break  the  silence,  he  would  have 
fallen  asleep,  as  he  usually  did  after  supper, 
taking  a  nap  in  his  arm-chair  as  a  kind  of  pre- 
liminary canter  before  going  to  bed. 

"Uncle  Roberts,  you  used  to  say  you  meant 
to  go  to  London  some  day  to  see  all  the  sights. " 

"Aye,"  said  Uncle  Roberts,  very  placidly, 
"so  I  do." 

"Couldn't  you  come  now?" 

"What?" 

"Couldn't  you  come  now,  at  once?    It  seems 


154  THE  LONELY  LADY 

to  me  it  would  be  a  very  good  time  to  come. 
Since  Aunt  Caroline's  death,"  hinted  Jeanne 
delicately,  "life  seems  to  me  to  have  grown  so 
very  uncertain." 

Uncle  Roberts,  with  some  uneasiness,  assured 
her  that  he  felt  as  well  as  ever  he  did  in  his  life, 
and  she  hastened  to  apologise. 

"  I  was  not  exactly  thinking  of  that.  But  there 
I  am,  Uncle  Roberts — all  alone  in  that  big  house. " 

"  I  thought  you  said  there  was  fifteen  servants. " 

"I  mean — not  counting  the  servants." 

"Jenny,"  said  Uncle  Roberts,  "never  let  me 
hear  you  say  you  don't  count  servants.  Ain't 
they  flesh  and  blood  the  same  as  you  be?  This 
is  what  comes  of  riches.  Flesh  and  blood  is 
nothing.  Fellow-creatures  is  nothing." 

"  Oh,  Uncle,  indeed  you  misunderstand.  They 
are  very  far  from  being  nothing.  It  is  I  who 
am  nobody  in  the  house,  and  if  anything,  fright- 
ened to  death  of  them  all. " 

"  Do  you  mean  they  put  upon  you? "  said  Uncle 
Roberts,  preparing  to  get  angry  with  his  fellow- 
creatures. 

"No,  no;  they  mean  very  kindly!  But  you 
see,  even  if  I  wanted  to  be  friendly  with  them, 
they  would  keep  themselves  to  themselves.  They 
pride  themselves  on  knowing  their  places,  and 
try  as  you  will — so  far  would  they  go,  and  no 
farther." 

"  Quite  right  too, "  said  Uncle  Roberts,  approv- 


OF  GROSVENOR  SQUARE  155 

ingly.  Platitudes  always  appealed  to  him,  espe- 
cially if  they  sounded  at  all  Scriptural,  whatever 
their  sense. 

"If  you  came  up,"  said  Jeanne,  "you  would 
sit  in  the  parlour  with  me,"  she  was  obliged  to 
use  a  word  within  the  scope  of  Uncle  Roberts's 
imagination.  The  drawing-room  might  have 
aroused  his  contempt;  and  the  morning-room 
would  have  suggested  a  separate  apartment 
for  each  portion  of  the  day,  and  excited  his 
ridicule. 

"What  should  I  do  there?"  said  Uncle  Roberts. 

"Why — "  said  Jeanne,  and  stopped  short. 
After  all,  what  would  Uncle  Roberts  do  in  the 
morning-room  where  she  found  next  to  nothing 
to  do  herself,  in  spite  of  her  education,  her  love 
of  dreaming,  and  her  letters  to  and  from  Louis? 

Uncle  Roberts  in  his  old  coat,  and  carpet 
slippers,  looked,  very  comfortable  and  good-na- 
tured, as  he  leant  back  in  the  patchwork  covered 
arm-chair,  and  smoked  his  cherry-wood  pipe. 

"There  is  a  large  comfortable  room,  with  big 
leather  arm-chairs,  behind  the  dining-room," 
she  said,  unconsciously  thinking  aloud;  "the 
walls  are  lined  with  book-cases.  You  could 
smoke  there — for  it  is  called  the  smoking-room. 
And  we  need  n't  be  indoors  all  the  time,  for  we 
could  go  and  see  the  sights. " 

"I  think  I  see  myself,"  said  Uncle  Roberts, 
taking  his  pipe  out  of  his  mouth  after  a  long  pause, 


156  THE  LONELY  LADY 

"going  to  see  the  sights  in  February,  and  the 
lambing  coming  on. " 

"  I  forgot  the  lambing, "  said  Jeanne. 

A  dismayed  silence  ensued. 

"When  I  talked  of  going  to  London — but  I 
done  for  sixty  year  without  going  a  nigh  the 
place — "  said  Uncle  Roberts  unusually  loqua- 
cious, "I  was  thinking  of  taking  you  both,  boy 
and  girl,  along  with  me.  I  guess  I  '11  wait  now 
till  Louis  comes  home." 

"  But  what  am  I  to  do? "  said  Jeanne. 

"Your  dooty, "  said  Uncle  Roberts. 

He  smoked  for  quite  five  minutes  without  a 
word,  to  let  this  recommendation  sink  into 
Jeanne's  understanding. 

"You  wrote  me,  awhile  back,  when  your  aunt 
was  took,  poor  soul,  (ready  or  unready,  1  be  'd 
sorry  to  say  which,  nor  it  ain't  for  any  one  to  say), 
you  wrote  me  as  you  'd  settled  with  her  man  of 
business  that  't  was  your  dooty  to  stop  and  take 
care  of  Louis's  house  and  furniture  for  him. " 

"Yes,  I  did,"  said  Jeanne. 

"  And  I  sent  you  a  post  card — not  being  so 
ready  with  my  pen,  nor  so  free  with  my  stamps, 
as  some,"  said  Uncle  Roberts,  pointedly,  "and 
I  said,  '  Dear  Jenny,rso  be  it,'  or  words  to  that 
effect." 

"Yes,"  said  Jeanne,  and  she  stifled  an  hysteri- 
cal laugh. 

"If  't  was  your  dooty  to  stop  then,  't  is  your 


OF  GROSVENOR  SQUARE  157 

dooty  to  stop  now, "  said  Uncle  Roberts,  decidedly. 

"  But  if  people  call  on  me — " 

"Well,  what  harm  can  they  do?" 

"A — a  cousin  of  Miss  Marney's  has  called  upon 
me,"  faltered  Jeanne,  "and  Dunham,  my  aunt's 
maid,  thinks  he  ought  not  to  come  because  I  'rn 
alone.  He  has  only  been  once.  But  he — he  might 
come  again." 

"Ain't  he  respectable?" 

Jeanne  hesitated  imperceptibly. 

She  felt  that  if  she  mentioned  that  Miss  Mar- 
ney's cousin  was  a  duke,  her  Uncle  Roberts  might 
once  and  for  all,  declare  that  his  respectability 
was  very  improbable.  With  burning  cheeks  and 
downcast  eyes,  she  suppressed  the  dukedom. 

"He  is  most  respectable,"  she  said  firmly.  "A 
very  quiet  young  man, — and — and  lame." 

"  Does  she  think  I  have  n't  brought  you  up  to 
know  how  to  take  care  of  yourself — "  he  said, 
with  rising  wrath,  "the  best-educated,  best- 
behaved  girl  in  the  parish, — that  you  can't  be 
trusted  to  have  a  young  man  call  on  you,  with 
fifteen  respectable  old  family  servants  in  the 
house,  at  your  back?" 

"  I  daresay  it 's  just  because  she 's  an  old 
maid  and  has  old-fashioned  ideas,"  said  Jeanne, 
soothingly. 

"So  have  I  old-fashioned  ideas.  But  I  never 
heard  that  a  respectable  young  man  could  n't 
call  on  a  respectable  young  woman,  nor  I  don't 


158  THE  LONELY  LADY 

hold  with  such  notions  at  all.  This  is  what 
comes  of  living  in  rich  men's  houses;  imputing 
evil  where  none  exists. " 

"  If  you  did  n't  think  it  wrong,  Uncle  Roberts, 
and  as  he  's  a  cousin  of  Aunt  Caroline's,  I  would 
like  to  see  him  now  and  then, — that  is,  if  he  ever 
does  come  again — for  I  find  London  very  lonely. 
It  is  a  very  dull  place." 

Uncle  Roberts  considered.  A  quiet,  lame 
young  man  did  not  sound  very  dangerous,  and 
Jeanne  was  a  steady,  sensible  girl.  Also  he  was 
indignant  that  Miss  Marney's  servants  should 
venture  to  criticise  his  niece. 

"  I  can't  see  no  harm  in  your  seeing  him  now 
and  again,  Dunham  or  no  Dunham,"  he  said, 
obstinately. 


CHAPTER  X 
CECILIA 

So  Jeanne  found  herself  once  more  alone  in 
the  Grosvenor  Square  house;  but  this  time  forti- 
fied by  her  Uncle  Roberts's  opinion  that  here, 
and  here  only,  lay  her  duty  towards  her  brother. 

As  she  entered  the  hall,  she  was  surprised  to 
find  that,  again,  she  experienced  not  a  little  of 
the  pleasant  sensation  of  home-coming. 

She  opened  the  door  of  the  morning-room,  and 
looked  quite  affectionately  at  the  familiar  fur- 
niture. After  all,  how  pretty  and  luxurious  it 
now  appeared  to  her. 

Even  though  she  might  consider  it  far  more 
delightful  and  interesting  to  pluck  a  handful 
of  snowdrops,  fresh  from  the  wet  earth,  for  herself , 
yet  she  could  not  refuse  to  acknowledge  the  love- 
liness of  the  forced  spring  flowers  which  filled 
every  corner  of  the  morning-room. 

Jeanne  was  too  inexperienced  to  be  aware  of 
the  cost  of  those  flowers.  The  florist's  bill  was 
presented  quarterly,  and  as  it  had  been  agreed 
that  the  accustomed  ways  of  the  household  should 

159 


160  THE  LONELY  LADY 

be  continued  without  change  until  Louis's  return, 
no  check  had  been  placed  upon  Hewitt's  taste 
for  decoration. 

The  great,  pale,  waxen  bells  of  hyacinths  in 
gilt  backets  filled  the  room  with  an  almost 
overpowering  sweetness.  Daffodils  and  yellow 
tulips  shone  like  sunshine  in  dark  corners;  a 
sheaf  of  lilies  of  the  valley  was  set  beside  the  Book 
of  Beauty  and  the  silver  bowl  was  filled  with, 
large,  double,  Parma  violets. 

"It  is  like  spring  come  indoors!"  cried  Jeanne, 
with  a  long  breath  of  delight. 

"I  am  very  glad  you  are  pleased  with  it, 
ma'am,"  said  Hewitt,  with  almost  a  gardener's 
pride — for  had  he  not  set  the  flowers  in  their 
places  with  his  own  hands?  "A  card  has  been 
left  for  you,  ma'am,  during  your  absence," 
and  he  presented,  decorously,  a  small,  solitary 
pasteboard  in  the  midst  of  a  large  salver. 

On  the  card  was  inscribed  the  name  of  the 
Duchess  of  Monaghan,  and  above  the  name  was 
scribbled  in  a  very  illegible  handwriting, 

Wednesday,  4.30.  Music.      Very  small. 

Jeanne  was  obliged  to  apply  to  Dunham  for 
the  meaning  of  this  mysterious  communication. 

"It  means  her  Grace  will  be  at  home  on 
Wednesday,  ma'am,  to  be  sure,"  said  Dunham — 
her  sallow  wrinkled  face  grew  quite  pink  with 


OF  GROSVENOR  SQUARE  161 

excitement — "and   she  hopes  you  will  come  at 
4.30,  and  there  '11  be  music  going  on." 

"Do  you  mean  she  will  be  giving  a  party?" 

"If  it  was  a  party,  ma'am,  it 's  not  very  likely 
she  would  ask  you,  with  your  poor  aunt  not  two 
months  in  her  grave." 

"I  would  not  like  to  show  any  disrespect  to 
Aunt  Caroline.  I  will  write  and  explain," 
said  Jeanne. 

Dunham  instantly  relented  and  took  the  op- 
posite view. 

"  It  is  n't  likely  the  Duchess  would  wish  to  shew 
disrespect  either,  Miss  Jane,  you  may  be  very 
sure  of  that.  You  see  how  careful  she  has  been 
to  write,  "Very  small."  That  means  there's 
but  a  few  invited;  not  half  London  crowding  to 
her  house  as  she  'd  have  if  she  was  giving  a  real 
party.  Being  a  relation  and  nothing  formal 
about  the  invitation,  I  don't  say  you  might  n't 
go.  I  'm  sure  my  poor  lady  would  have  liked 
to  think  they  remembered  the  connection  however 
late  in  the  day." 

"I  wish  I  had  been  at  home  when  she  called; 
I  could  have  asked  her  all  about  it, "  said  Jeanne, 
regretfully. 

"Bless  me,  ma'am,  you  don't  think  she  asked 
for  you!"  said  Dunham,  reproachfully.  "The 
footman  just  handed  in  the  card.  But  she  was 
in  the  carriage,  for  I  saw  her  myself  from  the 
window.  'T  is  a  great  compliment  her  coming 


1 62  THE  LONELY  LADY 

at  all.  You  being  but  young,  as  one  might  say, 
and  her  such  a  great  lady,  and  the  penny  post 
so  handy  for  invitations.  Depend  upon  it,  she 
repents  not  having  shown  more  civility  to  my 
poor  lady  while  she  could,  and  is  trying  to  make 
up  for  it.  But  to  ask  to  come  in  on  a  first  visit !  I 
don't  know,  to  be  sure,  what  may  be  the  fashion 
nowadays;  but  in  my  poor  lady's  time  she  would 
never  have  dreamt  of  anything  but  leaving  her 
card  at  the  door  for  that, "  said  Dunham,  tossing 
her  head. 

"Wednesday,  and  this  is  only  Friday.  What 
a  long  time  to  wait,"  said  Jeanne,  excitedly. 
"  However,  it  will  be  something  to  look  forward 
to.  And,  Mrs.  Dunham,  I — I  asked  Uncle  Roberts 
if  it  would  matter  very  much  if — if  my  cousin — 
I  mean  the  Duke — called  upon  me  now  and  then, 
whilst  I  was  here  alone — and  he  said  he  could 
not  see  any  harm  at  all  in  it. " 

"  No  more  can  I,  ma'am,  now  his  mamma  have 
been,"  said  Dunham,  with  great  dignity.  "It 
just  makes  all  the  difference  in  the  world,  as  I 
told  you,  Miss  Jane,  if  you  remember.  I  'm  sure 
his  Grace  can't  call  at  this  house  too  of  ten  to 
please  me.  I  'm  only  sorry  he  didn't  think  to 
come  a  little  sooner,  when  your  poor  auntie  was 
alive  to  hear  of  it. " 

Jeanne  could  not  help  feeling,  that  Dunham, 
as  usual,  had  got  the  better  of  her,  in  her  small 
attempt  at  self-assertion. 


OF  GROSVENOR  SQUARE  163 

On  the  morrow  the  current  of  her  thoughts  was 
changed  by  the  appearance  of  a  paragraph  in  the 
Morning  Post  to  the  effect  that  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Hogg- 
Watson  had  returned  from  their  travels  in  South 
America,  to  their  house  in  Queen's  Gate. 

"This  time  there  cannot  be  any  mistake  in 
my  going  to  call,"  Jeanne  said  to  herself,  with 
not  a  little  pleasurable  excitement.  "If  I  know 
anybody  in  this  world  it  is  Cecilia!  And  there 
could  not  be  two  couples  with  such  a  name  as 
Hogg- Watson  travelling  in  South  America  at 
the  same  time.  And  after  all,  though  Cecilia 
and  I  had  our  quarrels,  we  had  a  good  deal  of 
fun  together  too.  She  has  probably  improved 
in  all  sorts  of  ways  since  she  married;  she  can't 
be  spoilt  like  she  used  to  be.  And  I  long  to  see 
her  children.  I  can  ask  them  all  to  come  and 
see  me.  How  delightful  and  cheerful  it  will 
be." 

She  drove  across  the  Park  to  Queen's  Gate 
that  very  afternoon,  without  waiting  for  Sunday 
to  intervene  that  Cecilia  might  get  settled. 

Mrs.  Hogg- Watson  was  at  home;  and  a  very 
smart  parlour-maid  conducted  Jeanne  up-stairs, 
and  into  a  large  empty  drawing-room. 

Jeanne  looked  round  her,  and  decided  that  the 
apartment  bore  the  strong  impress  of  her  friend's 
personality. 

Cecilia  was  fair,  and  her  favourite  colour  in 
her  girlhood  had  been  blue.  Consequently  the 


164  THE  LONELY  LADY 

room  was  almost  dazzling  in  its  variety  of  azure 
tints. 

The  walls  and  carpet  and  curtains  were  blue; 
the  furniture  was  covered  with  blue  brocade; 
and  the  water  colour  drawings  which  were  hung 
upon  the  walls  appeared  to  have  been  selected 
solely  for  the  hue  of  the  sea  and  sky,  which  pre- 
dominated therein. 

All  the  cushions  wore  white  muslin  covers  tied 
up  with  blue  sash  ribbons,  and  the  writing  table 
appointments  were  of  blue  morocco. 

"I  suppose  Cecilia  will  wear  a  blue  dress.  I 
wonder  why  she  is  so  long,"  thought  Jeanne, 
after  a  few  minutes'  patient  waiting.  "I  am 
sure  she  will  never  guess  who  it  is;  for  though  I 
said  my  name  three  times,  I  saw  the  maid  had 
not  the  least  idea  what  it  was. " 

When  Cecilia  at  length  came  into  the  room, 
however,  rather  breathless  and  apologetic, — with 
the  air  of  one  who  has  just  completed  a  hasty 
toilette, — she  was  not  wearing  blue,  but  a  fawn- 
coloured  gown  of  a  very  elegant  Parisian  make, 
closely  fitting  her  tall,  full  figure,  which  had 
amplified  since  her  girlhood. 

But  her  charms,  though  somewhat  full-blown, 
were  still  considerable;  and  in  spite  of  a  double 
chin,  she  possessed  every  claim  to  be  considered 
a  handsome  woman  that  could  be  set  forth  by  a 
white  skin,  healthy  colouring,  abundant,  fair 
hair,  and  fine  proportions. 


OF  GROSVENOR  SQUARE  165 

Perhaps  it  was  Jeanne's  fancy,  that  on  per- 
ceiving who  it  was,  Cecilia  drew  back  momen- 
tarily, and  dropped  some  of  the  empressement 
with  which  she  had  been  prepared  to  greet  her 
visitor. 

"Good  gracious,  I  had  no  idea  it  was  you, 
Jenny, "  she  said.  "  Fancy  your  being  in  London. 
What  are  you  doing  here,  pray?" 

She  kissed  her  erstwhile  playmate  in  rather  a 
perfunctory  and  affected  manner;  and  Jeanne's 
easily  disturbed  colour  rose. 

When,  in  the  candid  days  of  childhood,  Jeanne 
and  Cecilia  had  disagreed — which  was  not  seldom, 
and  would  have  been  oftener  but  for  the  yielding 
disposition  of  the  younger — they  had  called  each 
other  Jenny  and  Cissie.  At  other  times  they 
had  been  always  Jeanne  and  Cecilia;  thus,  by 
mutual  consent,  solacing  each  other's  wounded 
dignity,  by  ignoring  the  detested  nicknames 
bestowed  by  homely  and  undiscerning  parents 
and  guardians. 

Jeanne,  though  meek,  was  yet  but  mortal 
woman,  and  she  returned  Cecilia's  greeting  with 
spirit. 

"I  am  in  London  because  I  live  in  London; 
and  I  came  to  visit  you,  Cissie,  because  I  saw 
you  had  just  arrived." 

Cecilia  executed  a  well-acted  little  start  of 
surprise  at  the  sound  of  her  abbreviated  Christian 
name;  but  Jeanne's  determined  bearing  did  not 


1 66  THE  LONELY  LADY 

relax  in  the  slightest  degree,  though  inwardly 
she  was  conscious  of  a  disgraceful  inclination 
to  shed  tears. 

"We  have  been  absent  from  home  a  long  time; 
travelling  in  South  America, "  said  Cecilia,  with 
elaborate  politeness. 

"So  I  saw  in  the  papers,"  said  Jeanne,  with 
equally  defiant  formality. 

There  came  a  feeble  rattle  at  the  door  handle. 

Jeanne  looked  at  Cecilia  with  a  sudden  interest 
she  could  not  help,  and  Cecilia  thawed  a  very 
little. 

"Open  the  door,"  said  a  child's  voice  without. 

"  It  is  Joey.  How  very  naughty !  The  children 
are  never  allowed  in  the  drawing-room  without 
being  sent  for,"  said  Mrs.  Hogg- Wat  son,  affect- 
edly. But  she  rustled  across  the  blue  carpet 
to  open  the  door. 

Jeanne  rose  too,  in  her  excitement.  Fancy 
Cecilia  with  children  of  her  own!  She  almost 
forgot  the  frigidity  of  her  old  friend's  reception 
in  her  desire  to  behold  Joey. 

"  Oh,  let  me  see  him, "  she  cried. 

"I  dress  him  rather  quaintly.  He  is  number 
four.  I  have  seven  altogether,  is  n't  it  awful — in 
nine  years?"  said  Cecilia  languidly.  "I  lost 
one — pneumonia.  You  see  he  is  dressed  as 
Bubbles,  after  Millais's  picture." 

The  back  view  of  Bubbles  was  distinctly 
captivating;  there  was  the  little  green  suit  and 


OF  GROSVENOR  SQUARE  167 

frill,  and  Joey's  large  mop  of  flaxen  curls  crowned 
his  shrimp-like  body.  But  when  he  removed 
his  head  from  his  mother's  skirt  to  look  at  the 
visitor,  alas!  the  face  was  the  face  of  Mr.  Hogg- 
Watson,  and  anything  less  like  the  face  of  Bubbles 
could  hardly  be  conceived. 

"  He  has  beautiful  hair,  "  said  Jeanne. 

"Hush,  he  will  hear,  and  I  don't  want  him  to 
be  made  vain,"  said  Cecilia,  without  looking  at 
her. 

"Where  have  you  been  walking,  Joey?" 

"  In  Tensington  Gardens, "  said  Joey. 

"Did  Nana  leave  that  note  for  Mammy?" 

"Yes,  Nana  did  leave  it." 

"What  are  you  trying  to  get  away  for?" 

"  I  want  to  tee  the  tarriage, "  said  Joey,  strug- 
gling from  his  parent's  embraces,  and  escaping 
to  the  window,  whither  Cecilia  pursued  him. 

During  this  conversation  Mrs.  Hogg-Watson 
devoted  both  her  eyes  and  her  attention  exclu- 
sively to  her  son,  whilst  her  visitor  sat  apart, 
embarrassed  and  neglected,  on  the  sofa ;  to  which 
she  had  returned  on  rinding  her  overtures  to 
Joey  repulsed.  Whence  this  newly  acquired 
absence  of  mind,  and  affectation  of  languor  on 
the  part  of  Cecilia,  who  had  always  been  rather 
brisk  and  decided,  even  sharp,  in  speech  and 
manner? 

Was  it  the  result  of  marriage,  or  merely  assumed 
to  overawe  her  humble  friend?  Cecilia  had 


1 68  THE  LONELY  LADY 

never  been  very  sympathetic,  Jeanne  remembered, 
but  at  least  she  had  been  real,  and  even  full  of 
vitality. 

Her  disappointment  was  keen,  but  her  heart 
was  too  tender  to  give  up  all  her  hopes  of  friend- 
ship in  a  moment,  and  she  took  the  unwise  course 
of  reminding  Cecilia  of  that  humble  past,  which 
Mrs.  Hogg- Watson  greatly  preferred  to  ignore. 

"  I  have  just  been  down  to  Pen-y-waun,  Cecilia, " 
she  said,  wistfully.  "But  the  Rectory  was  shut 
up,  as  of  course  you  know.  Mr.  Jones  of  Tref-goch 
takes  the  duties.  It 's  ages  since  you  've  been 
there,  is  n't  it?  The  old  garden  looks  exactly  the 
same,  and  the  swing  is  still  up  where  we  used  to 
play.  And  when  I  saw  your  name  in  the  paper 
I  was  so  glad,  for  it  seemed  to  make  London  less 
empty  all  of  a  sudden. " 

"London  empty!"  said  Cecilia,  with  a  shrill 
laugh,  "  I  have  scarcely  a  moment  to  myself,  even 
at  this  time  of  the  year. " 

"I  suppose  you  have  a  great  many  friends," 
said  Jeanne,  with  a  sigh. 

"Heaps — of  a  kind — acquaintances  and  so 
forth,"  said  Cecilia  vaguely.  "But  they  come 
and  go — "  she  added  in  a  hurry,  as  though  she 
were  afraid  that  her  old  friend  was  about  to  ask 
her  for  introductions  to  this  wide  evanescent 
circle. 

She  affected  once  more  to  be  absorbed  in  her 
son. 


OF  GROSVENOR  SQUARE  169 

"Come  away,  Joey,  and  don't  flatten  'oo  little 
nose  against  the  window-pane  any  more.  Won't 
'oo  turn  to  'oo  mammy  like  a  dood  boy?" 

Jeanne's  rising  tears  were  dried  by  the  scorn 
which  all  honest  natures,  however  gentle,  feel 
for  affectation. 

She  began  to  button  her  little  black  cloth 
jacket, — which  she  had  opened  on  account  of 
the  heat  of  the  unscreened  fire, — preparatory 
to  rising. 

"If  she  can't  be  natural,  I  won't  stop  and 
make  ridiculous  conversation  with  her,"  she 
thought,  and  her  face  burnt  with  indignation. 

"Dere's  de  tarriage, "  said  Joey,  ignoring  his 
parent's  blandishments. 

"What  carriage?" 

"Mine,"  said  Jeanne,  in  a  trembling  voice,  and 
she  rose  from  the  sofa. 

"Yours!  What  do  you  mean?"  said  Cecilia 
in  her  natural  tones  of  alert  curiosity.  "Who 
drove  you  here?" 

"My  coachman,"  said  Jeanne,  with  a  dignity 
belied  by  her  beating  heart. 

Jenny  to  be  going  about  in  a  large  double 
brougham,  drawn  by  a  pair  of  fat  grey  horses, 
and  driven  by  her  own  coachman! 

Cecilia  was  astounded. 

"Are  you  married?"  she  cried,  with  a  gasp. 
It  appeared  to  her  the  only  possible  solution. 

"  No,  I  am  not  married,  and  the  carriage  belongs 


170  THE  LONELY  LADY 

to  Louis,  "  said  Jeanne,  repenting  of  her  unwonted 
assumption  of  a  magnificence  not  truly  her 
own. 

"Louis!" 

If  Cecilia  wished  to  hear  more,  she  must  swallow 
all  pretence  to  indifference,  and  ask  questions. 
This  was  Jeanne's  revenge  for  the  coolness  of  her 
reception. 

Mrs.  Hogg-Watson's  curiosity  easily  overcame 
her  exclusiveness. 

"  Run  away  to  the  nursery  directly,  Joey. 
You  are  crumpling  the  curtains,  you  naughty  child. 
Go  at  once,"  she  said,  in  a  voice  which  Bubbles 
apparently  recognised  as  one  to  be  feared  and 
obeyed,  for  he  trotted  obediently  out  of  the  room, 
leaving  the  door  open,  which  his  mother  shut 
behind  him. 

"You  are  not  going  yet,  Jeanne?  Oh,  I  see, 
the  fire  is  scorching  you;  let  me  put  this  screen. 
Sit  down  again  for  heaven's  sake,  and  tell  me  about 
Louis.  Is  he  in  London?" 

"  No,  he  is  in  Somaliland,  or  on  the  way, "  said 
Jeanne,  "and  I  am  taking  care  of  his  house, 
which  was  left  to  him  last  December  by  my  great- 
aunt,  Miss  Marney  of  Orsett. " 

"I  'm  sure  I  never  heard  of  her,"  said  Cecilia, 
staring. 

"No,  we  never  thought  about  her.  Uncle 
Roberts  knew  she  was -alive,  but  he  did  not  even 
know  where  she  lived,  till  she  sent  for  me;  and 


OF  GROSVENOR  SQUARE  171 

then  she  died;  and  so  here  I  am,  all  alone,  at  99 
Grosvenor  Square. " 

"Grosvenor  Square!"  cried  Cecilia,  gasping 
once  more. 

"  It 's  not  one  of  the  largest  houses, "  said 
Jeanne,  apologetically.  "  Mrs.  Dunham  says  they 
differ  very  much.  But  it  seems  like  a  palace  to 
me,  of  course. " 

"Grosvenor  Square  !  Do  you  mean  round  a  cor- 
ner, in  a  side  street?"  said  Cecilia,  suspiciously. 

"No,  I  do  not.     It  is  in  Grosvenor  Square." 

"But then — your  aunt  must  have  been  very 
rich." 

"  Yes,  she  was  very  rich,  and  she  has  left  every- 
thing she  had  in  the  world  to  Louis.  " 

"And  nothing  to  you." 

"  It  is  the  same  thing, "  said  Jeanne. 

"My  dear!  It's  nothing  of  the  kind.  If 
you  were  married  you  'd  find  that  out  quickly 
enough !  Now  how  like  Mamma — who  wrote  only 
a  few  weeks  ago,  on  a  post  card,  and  said  you 
had  gone  to  London — not  even  to  mention  it 
was  Grosvenor  Square!"  said  Cecilia  indignantly. 
"Of  course  I  thought  you  had  just  gone  up  for 
a  treat.  She  merely  put  a  P.  S.  'JennY  g°ing  to 
London.'  I  suppose  you  know  Mamma  and  I 
have  a  coolness  ?  We  quarrelled  outright  six 
months  ago,  and  I  decided  not  to  answer  her 
letters  at  all  till  she  had  calmed  down.  So  she 
seldom  writes  now. " 


172  THE  LONELY  LADY 

Jeanne's  discretion  was  outweighed  by  her 
pity  for  Mrs.  Davies. 

"  Oh,  Cissie, "  she  said,  "  you  have  almost  broken 
her  heart. " 

Cecilia  could  bear  home-truths  without  winc- 
ing,— from  people  who  lived  in  Grosvenor  Square. 

"  It 's  all  very  well,  Jeanne, "  she  said,  in  depre- 
cating tones,  "  but  you  've  no  idea  what  it  is  to 
be  married,  and  your  people  expecting  you  to  go 
on  just  the  same  as  though  you  were  a  little  girl 
at  home,  and  write  to  them  everything  that 
happens,  about  twice  a  week.  Actually  on  my 
honeymoon  Mamma  wrote  to  me  every  day,  and 
expected  me  to  answer  her  letters!  Not  but 
what  I  had  more  time  then  than  I  have  ever  had 
since,  for  Joseph  went  roaming  round  moping  old 
picture-galleries  from  morning  till  night,  and 
nearly  drove  me  mad  till  I  hit  on  the  excellent 
plan  of  saying  it  gave  me  neuralgia,  and  let  him 
go  by  himself.  Why  can't  Mamma  console 
herself  with  Tom  or  Jim?  they  would  be  only 
too  glad;  but  no,  she  must  run  after  me  because 
I  am  the  only  girl,  though  she  has  two  sons. 
I  suppose  she  has  cried  over  my  heartlessness  to 
you  many  a  time,  and  said  I  put  nothing  in  my 
letters  when  I  did  write?" 

"Oh,  Cecilia,  would  she  be  likely  to  give  you 
away  like  that  to  me!" 

"Well— I  didn't  put  much,"  admitted  Cecilia. 
"  How  could  I  ?  Living  in  another  world  as  I 


OF  GROSVENOR  SQUARE  173 

do,  and  Mamma  not  knowing  any  of  my  friends? 
What  was  there  to  say?" 

"There  were  the  children." 

"  Oh;  the  children.  The  way  people  go  on  about 
them.  I  'm  sure  I  'm  a  good  mother  if  ever  there 
was  one.  I  try  to  make  pictures  of  them.  What 
clothes  and  hair  will  do  is  done.  But  it 's  a  little 
hard  on  me  that  they  are  all  Hogg-Watsons. 
You  remember  what  a  pretty  child  I  used  to  be, " 
said  Cecilia,  modestly.  "But  really  otherwise 
I  have  little  to  do  with  them.  Joseph  is  a  great 
authority  on  education  and  health;  and  Mamma's 
old-fashioned  ways  would  not  suit  him  at  all. 
I  should  be  obliged  to  keep  them  apart  if  only 
for  that.  Imagine,  he  chooses  their  nurses 
and  governesses, — all  German — and  even  their 
toys  and  pictures,  and  diet  lists.  Luckily  such 
things  don't  interest  me,  or  I  should  have  rebelled 
long  ago.  But  think  of  Mamma  interfering! 
You  remember  the  ridiculous  way  she  used  to  dose 
us  with  her  patent  medicines;  and  I  am  sure  we 
learnt  nothing  at  all  with  the  prim  old  governess 
she  thought  so  much  of." 

"We  did  not  learn  much,"  Jeanne  was  obliged 
to  admit. 

"I  feel  the  defects  of  my  early  education 
terribly,  I  can  assure  you,  now  that  I  am  married 
to  a  celebrity,"  said  Cecilia. 

"  Is  he  a  celebrity? " 

"My  dear!     Crowned  heads  visit  him!"  said 


174  THE  LONELY  LADY 

Cecilia,  reproachfully.  "  He  is  known  all  over 
Europe  and  America;  and  his  scientific  books  are 
standard  works.  But  I  suppose  they  think 
nothing  of  that  in  Pen-y-waun  and  Coed-Ithel. 
Though  to  be  sure,  I  am  obliged  to  be  very  careful 
what  I  let  out  to  Mamma  about  who  comes  here, 
or  she  would  expect  to  be  asked  to  meet  them 
on  the  spot,  a  thing  I  scarcely  expect  myself. 
I  assure  you  people  are  most  jealous  and 
disagreeable.  They  think  nothing  of  asking 
Joseph  to  their  houses  and  ignoring  my  existence 
altogether." 

"  And  does  he  go? "  said  Jeanne. 

"Well,  sometimes  I  am  bound  to  say  that  he 
does,"  said  Cecilia  candidly.  "Though  it  makes 
very  little  difference  to  me,"  she  added  patheti- 
cally, "  for  when  he  stays  at  home  he  is  so  absorbed 
in  his  work  that  I  scarcely  see  him. " 

"What  is  his  work?" 

"Don't  ask  me,"  said  Cecilia,  shuddering. 
"He  calls  himself  a  bacteriologist,  and  dreadful 
things  of  that  kind,  which  I  don't  even  pretend 
to  be  able  to  pronounce.  Chiefly  dissecting  germs 
and  microbes,  so  far  as  I  know.  He  never  speaks 
of  anything  connected  with  his  work  to  me,  and 
he  has  forbidden  me  to  speak  of  it  to  him.  You 
know  how  cranky  these  professors  are.  He  is 
a  professor  of  chemistry  and  all  sorts  of  things, 
you  know;  and  a  member  of  scientific  academies 
in  Rome  and  Philadelphia  and  Berlin  and  heaven 


OF  GROSVENOR  SQUARE  175 

knows  where.  I  often  tell  him  he  forgets  he  has 
a  wife  at  all.  Think  of  dragging  me  all  over 
South  America  collecting  mosquitoes,  and  then 
coming  home  in  February  of  all  times." 

"Did  you  take  the  children?" 

"Good  heavens,  no,  we  were  uncomfortable 
enough  without  that.  As  far  as  that  goes,  he 
wanted  to  leave  me  with  them.  But  I  insisted  on 
going  with  him,  and  for  once  I  got  my  way. 
Jeanne!  stop  and  have  tea  with  me,  and  you  will 
see  him.  He  condescends  to  come  in  for  a  cup  of 
tea,  sometimes,  though  he  hates  this  room  simply 
because  it  is  done  up  according  to  my  taste. " 

"But  I  saw  him  at  your  wedding.  Still — it 
was  only  for  a  moment,  and  I  don't  think  I  should 
recognise  him,"  said  Jeanne. 

"It  is  so  long  ago — nine  years, "  sighed  Cecilia. 
"  You  must  be  getting  on,  Jeanne;  and  yet,  I  de- 
clare you  look  as  childish  as  ever.  I  wonder  you 
never  married.  Do  you  mean  to  say  there  has 
been  no  one — absolutely  no  one  ?" 

"No  one  at  all,"  said  Jeanne,  blushing. 

"  Not  in  all  these  years. " 

"  There  is  Louis.  He  has  been  enough  for  me. 
We  are  too  fond  of  each  other,  I  suppose,  to  think 
about  falling  in  love. " 

"Oh,  my  dear, — ridiculous!  Brothers  and  sis- 
ters are  all  very  well,  but  they  are  not  everything. 
Well,  you  surprise  me,  for  I  always  thought  you 
pretty — in  your  dark  sort  of  way,  you  know. 


176  THE  LONELY  LADY 

But  perhaps  now  you  are  up  here,  we  shall  see! 
How  you  blush!  Does  that  mean  you  have 
some  one  in  your  eye?" 

"  I  have  no  one  in  my  eye, "  said  Jeanne,  almost 
angrily.  "Oh,  Cecilia,  do  not  talk  about  it, 
please." 

"You  are  surely  not  going  to  be  coy!"  said 
Cecilia,  severely.  "At  your  age,  Jeanne,  it  would 
be  a  pity  if  you  could  not  talk  things  over  sensibly. 
Why,  at  twenty-five  I  was  the  mother  of  six 
already,  and  a  seventh — but  no  matter.  So  you 
have  not  even  had  a  chance  to  get  married! 
Though  to  be  sure  who  is  there  to  marry  at  Pen- 
y-waun?  It  was  a  miracle  Joseph  turning  up. 
I  shall  never  forget  my  first  view  of  him;  at  the 
archaeological  picnic  at  Tref-goch.  (Archaeology 
is  his  recreation,  his  recreation  if  you  will  be- 
lieve me!)  He  went  poking  about  the  ruins  in 
spectacles,  and  gave  a  lecture  afterwards;  and 
I  didn't  understand  a  single  word  of  it,  and 
thought  what  a  dull  creature  he  was." 

"And  yet  you  married  him  in  a  month!" 

"  My  dear,  anybody  would  have  married  Joseph 
if  he  'd  wanted  to  make  them.  He  's  one  of  those 
ugly  powerful  men  who  fascinate  women," 
said  Cecilia  solemnly.  "Nobody  can  say  I  have 
a  jealous  disposition,  but  if  you  could  see  how  they 
run  after  him  still!  I  only  wish  they  could  see 
him  at  home  in  some  of  his  moods.  I  assure  you, 
Jeanne,  he  is  absolutely  violent  when  he  is  an- 


OF  GROSVENOR  SQUARE  177 

noyed,  and  I  verily  believe  he  has  the  worst 
temper  in  the  world. " 

Jeanne,  somewhat  shocked  and  distressed  by 
such  revelations,  sought  in  vain  for  words  to  con- 
vey her  sympathy  as  delicately  as  possible  to 
this  much-enduring  wife;  but  she  was  relieved 
of  her  difficulty  by  Cecilia's  calmly  proceeding 
to  add: 

"  Not  but  what  I  rather  like  a  man  with  a  bad 
temper,  myself.  Well — to  return  to  that  picnic; 
there  were  half  a  dozen  women  there,  trying  their 
best  to  attract  him  by  jabbering  science  to  him. 
If  they  had  but  known  how  he  hated  it !  If  there 
is  any  jabbering  of  that  kind  to  be  done,  he  natu- 
rally likes  to  do  it  himself.  He  determined  to 
marry  me  the  instant  he  set  eyes  on  me.  He 
has  a  weakness  for  fair  complexions.  You  see 
what  a  wreck  mine  is  now.  But  what  can  you 
expect?  Seven  children  in  nine  years,"  she 
repeated  mournfully. 

"I  think,  Cecilia,  if  you  ask  me,  that  you  are 
much  better  looking  than  you  used  to  be,"  said 
Jeanne,  consolingly,  "and  you  know  you  were 
always  pretty.  Of  course  you  are  a  little  plumper. 
But  not  more  than  is  becoming. " 

"I'm  sure  it 's  very  kind  of  you  to  say  so," 
said  Cecilia,  in  pleased  and  softened  tones.  "Of 
course  I  have  every  advantage  of  dress  now  to 
set  me  off.  I  will  say  Joseph  doesn't  grudge 
me  that, "  and  she  glanced  with  some  complacency 

ia 


178  THE  LONELY  LADY 

at  her  own  reflection  in  the  pier  glass  opposite 
the  sofa.  "Well  Jeanne,  we  were  always  friends, 
you  know,  off  and  on — and  if  I  was  a  little — 
reserved  when  you  first  came  in,  I  hope  you  will 
put  it  down  to — "  she  paused  imperceptibly — 
"to  my  thinking  you  were  on  Mamma's  side, 
and  all  that,  and  come  to  reproach  me,  as  the 
Pen-y-waun  neighbours  do  whenever  we  meet. 
As  though  a  celebrity's  wife,  in  another  sphere — 
could  keep  up  with  them  all. " 

Jeanne  accepted  her  friend's  apologies  very 
willingly;  and  if  any  doubts  of  Cecilia's  sincerity 
still  lurked  in  her  heart,  did  her  best  to  suppress 
them.  She  was  at  once  too  lonely  and  too  gener- 
ous to  desire  any  quarrel  with  her  first  friend. 
Even  if  Cecilia  were  not  as  disinterested  in  her 
affection  as  could  be  wished,  it  must  still  be  more 
lively  to  sit  and  talk  with  her,  than  to  mope  in 
solitary  silence  at  home. 

"  So  your  aunt  left  you  no  money.  I  must  say 
that  was  a  great  shame,"  said  Cecilia,  warmly. 
"What  will  become  of  you  when  Louis  marries? 
So  good-looking  as  he  used  to  be,  he  is  certain 
to  marry  now.  Why,  even  in  the  old  days  I  used 
to  think — if  he  had  n't  been  younger  than  I — " 

"He  never  showed  the  slightest  inclination  to 
marry  anybody, "  said  Jeanne,  jealously. 

"  Not  to  you,  I  daresay,  "  said  Cecilia,  shrewdly. 
"One's  brothers  don't  tell  one  everything." 

"  My  brother  does, "  said  Jeanne. 


179 

"Oh,  my  dear!  So  you  think!  But  one  never 
can  tell  with  one's  brothers.  Look  at  Tom. 
What  a  creature  he  has  married.  I  never  see 
him  now. " 

"Louis  is  very  unlike  Tom." 

"Men  are  all  alike  in  some  ways,  my  dear," 
said  Cecilia,  with  the  pitying  superiority  of  the 
married  woman  talking  to  the  spinster.  "Of 
course  Louis  will  marry  now  that  he  is  rich. 
Surely  you  could  not  be  so  selfish  as  to  wish  him 
not  to?" 

"  Some  day,  of  course, "  said  Jeanne.  "  I  want 
him  to  marry.  But  he  promised  me  faithfully, 
long  ago,  that  he  would  never  marry  any  one  I 
did  n't  like — so  it  will  be  all  right,  and  I  shan't 
mind — when  the  time  comes.  Still  I  may  hope, 
without  being  selfish,  that  it  won't  come  just  yet. 
He  has  his  career  to  think  about  first. " 

"I  don't  see  how  one  can  expect  to  like  one's 
brothers'  wives,"  said  Cecilia.  "They  always 
marry  some  horrid  woman  or  other.  Men  are  so 
easily  taken  in.  Joseph's  sisters  can't  bear  me, 
and  I  never  even  troubled  to  be  civil  to  them, 
knowing  very  well  that  it  would  be  no  use.  He 
goes  to  see  his  people  by  himself,  and  as  they 
are  all  scientific  together,  I  'm  sure  it 's  no  loss. " 

"But  you'll  come  and  see  me, "  entreated 
Jeanne. 

"Certainly  I  will,"  said  Cecilia.  "I  can  assure 
you  I  know  very  well  what  it  is  to  be  alone. 


i8o  THE  LONELY  LADY 

Joseph  goes  to  the  most  outlandish  places,  and  if 
he  can  slip  off  without  me,  he  will.  Imagine,  at 
his  age,  going  out  to  South  Africa." 

"To  fight!" 

"No — no,  not  to  fight — he  was  a  surgeon  in 
his  youth  and  thought  he  could  be  of  use.  Of 
course  nobody  wanted  him.  I  felt  sure  of  that. 
He  was  much  too  old.  But  that  is  Joseph  all 
over.  If  he  has  made  up  his  mind  to  do  a  thing, 
he  does  it.  So  off  he  went  in  spite  of  all  I  could 
say ;  though  he  was  quite  violent  when  I  suggested 
I  might  go  with  him  and  nurse  some  of  the  officers. 
My  heart  goes  out  to  the  wounded  men.  But 
you  will  be  wanting  to  go  shopping,  Jeanne,  and 
I  really  might  help  you  over  that — "  she  cast  an 
expressive  glance  at  Jeanne's  plain  dress.  "I 
can  show  you  where  to  buy  all  the  nicest  clothes ; 
and  you  can't  be  wearing  mourning  much  longer, 
just  for  a  great-aunt. " 

"  Indeed — I  want  to  show  every  respect  in  my 
power,  to  poor  Aunt  Caroline.  It  is  the  least 
I  can  do,"  said  Jeanne. 

"I  suppose  Louis  inheriting  her  money  does 
make  a  difference,"  said  Cecilia,  calmly. 

Jeanne  gave  up  all  attempts  to  explain  that 
the  fortune  had  nothing  to  do  with  it. 

There  were  some  things  Cecilia  had  never  been 
able  to  understand. 

One  was  Jeanne's  reverence  for  her  French 
descent;  which  Cecilia  had  always  honestly 


OP  GROSVENOR  SQUARE  181 

deplored;  and  they  had  once  called  each  other 
Jenny  and  Cissie  for  a  week  because  she  had 
casually  remarked  there  was  generally  something 
rather  fishy  about  foreign  blood. 

Louis  had  finally  forbidden  his  sister  to  mention 
the  sacred  subject  of  the  ancienne  noblesse  at  the 
Rectory,  and  she  implicitly  obeyed  his  orders; 
the  cause  of  this  particular  quarrel  was  eventually 
almost  forgotten. 

"I  will  go  shopping  with  you,  or  do  anything 
you  like,"  said  Jeanne,  happily,  "and  I  hope  you 
will  come  to  me  as  soon  as  possible,  for  I  long 
to  show  you  the  house. " 

"Let  me  just  take  a  squint  at  my  engagement 
book,  and  we  '11  settle  it  at  once, "  said  Cecilia, 
importantly.  "And  let  me  see — how  tiresome 
of  Joseph ;  I  want  you  to  know  him  so  much  and 
he  does  not  seem  inclined  to  come  in;  they  must 
have  told  him  I  had  a  visitor.  How  would  it  be 
if  I  brought  him  to  dine  with  you  one  night, 
quite  quietly,  you  know,  only  our  three  selves — 
in  Grosvenor  Square?" 

"It  would  be  very  kind  of  you  indeed,"  said 
the  lonely  lady,  gratefully. 


CHAPTER   XI 
THE  CONCERT 

ON  Wednesday  afternoon  Jeanne  drove  round 
the  Park  as  usual,  until  it  was  time  for  the 
Duchess  to  be  At  Home. 

The  weather  had  become  suddenly  and  severely 
cold,  so  that  the  place  looked  almost  deserted. 

The  icy  breath  of  the  east  wind  swayed  the 
topmost  branches  of  the  bare  black  trees;  the 
benches  on  the  frost-bitten  paths  were  whitened 
over;  the  drooping  shrubs  hung  their  shriv- 
elled leaves,  and  the  scanty  grass  was  hard  and 
crystallized. 

The  children  of  the  poor  remained  prudently 
away;  and  only  the  children  of  the  upper  classes 
were  sent  forth  as  usual,  to  brave  the  bitter 
cold;  with  purple  cheeks  and  little  scarlet  noses 
they  trotted  along,  wrapped  in  cloth  and  velvet; 
sometimes  gaitered,  sometimes  with  bare  little 
blue  legs  that  had  some  ado  to  keep  pace  with 
hurrying  nurses  and  governesses. 

Jeanne,  in  the  comfortable  close  carriage, 
shivered  in  spite  of  black  fox  rug  and  carpeted 
foot-warmer;  and  in  spite  of  the  excitement  of 

182 


THE  LONELY  LADY.  183 

anticipation  which  made  her  cheeks  burn.  But 
Buckam  and  William  on  the  box,  each  burying  a 
scornful  nose  in  the  depths  of  his  broad  fur  tippet, 
appeared  unconscious  of  the  inclemency  of  the 
weather. 

Frost  is  pleasant  enough  when  the  sun  shines 
brightly  over  snowy  land  and  glistening  bough, 
but  Jeanne  found  it  depressing  indeed  in  this 
grey  chill  atmosphere,  with  a  heavy  pall  of 
yellow  fog  visibly  suspended  above;  grimly 
waiting  to  descend  upon  London  the  moment 
the  east  wind  should  cease  whistling  among  the 
chimney-pots,  and  sink  to  frozen  sleep. 

A  long  line  of  carriages  was  slowly  passing 
before  the  front  door  of  the  Duchess  of  Monaghan's 
house  in  Park  Lane,  and  Miss  Mamey's  brougham 
took  its  place  in  the  rank,  with  its  frightened 
occupant;  who  descended  in  her  turn,  and  went 
into  the  warm  and  brightly  lighted  hall,  and  up 
the  staircase,  which  was  thronged  but  not  crowded, 
with  a  goodly  number  of  ladies  and  a  very  few 
gentlemen. 

Among  the  velvets  and  silks  and  sables  sur- 
rounding her,  Jeanne  in  her  plain  black  jacket 
and  crape  toque  looked,  as  she  was,  a  little  alien 
to  fashion ;  and  began  to  wonder,  rather  miserably 
and  nervously,  why  she  had  come  at  all,  as  she 
looked  round  her  in  vain  for  a  friendly  face. 

But    her  name — or  the  garbled  version  of  it 


184  THE  LONELY  LADY 

which  must  pass  muster  when  a  foreign  appel- 
lation is  in  question — was  announced  with  the 
others,  and  she  found  herself  shaking  hands  with 
her  hostess  in  her  turn. 

Her  awe  of  the  Duchess  amounted  to  terror, 
but  her  alarm  was  wasted;  the  Duchess  smiled 
at  everybody  and  recognised  nobody,  for  she  was 
short-sighted  to  blindness,  and  her  glasses,  without 
which  she  was  helpless,  had  become  entangled 
in  the  ruffles  of  her  Mechlin  fichu. 

Jeanne  had,  happily,  no  time  to  utter  the 
greetings  and  explanations  which  she  had  com- 
posed and  rehearsed  in  the  carriage,  before  finding 
herself  seated  on  a  little  gilt  chair  in  a  row  of  other 
little  gilt  chairs,  and  behind  several  large  picture 
hats,  through  the  chinks  of  which  she  ventured 
to  peep;  and  beheld  a  grand  piano,  a  group  of 
palms,  and  a  gentleman  with  long  hair  clasping 
a  violoncello. 

Where  was  the  Duke?  Where,  oh,  where  was 
kind  Cousin  Denis? 

Regardless  of  the  fact  that  the  hats  and  bonnets 
around  her  were  stationary,  Jeanne's  little  black 
toque  bobbed  up  and  down  in  the  hope  of  dis- 
covering him. 

Her  efforts  were  presently  rewarded,  and  she 
beheld  him, — though  in  the  surrounding  hum 
of  conversation  she  could  not  hear  him — politely 
conversing  with  another  long-haired  gentleman 
who  was  preparing  to  take  his  place  at  the  piano. 


OF  GROSVENOR  SQUARE  185 

As  she  looked,  there  jumped  up  and  spoke  to 
the  Duke  a  young  man  so  like  him  in  face  and 
colouring  that  Jeanne  concluded  it  must  be  his 
brother.  A  tall,  broad-shouldered  young  man, 
with  the  same  fair  hair  and  straight  features, 
but  as  burly  in  figure  and  florid  of  colouring  as 
Cousin  Denis  was  slight  and  pale. 

Jeanne  suddenly  realised,  as  the  brothers 
stood  side  by  side,  what  the  Duke  ought  to  have 
been  like  had  it  not  been  for  the  accident  which 
had  spoilt  his  life. 

It  must  be  his  brother,  she  thought,  and  in  the 
warmth  of  her  heart  she  addressed  an  interested 
enquiry  on  the  subject  to  the  lady  who  occupied 
the  little  gilt  chair  next  to  her  own,  on  the  left. 

The  lady — having  paused  to  overcome  her 
dismayed  surprise  at  being  addressed  at  all  by  a 
total  stranger — answered  rather  shortly  that  the 
young  man  in  question  was  Lord  Dermot  Liscar- 
ney,  and  turned  her  right  shoulder  to  Jeanne  as 
a  sign  that  she  was  not  prepared  to  continue  this 
illicit  intercourse.  Thus  another  lesson  found 
its  way  home  to  the  timid  soul  of  Jeanne,  who 
knew  not  that,  although  in  most  civilised  coun- 
tries a  stranger  in  a  friend's  house  is  the  friend 
of  your  friend,  and  consequently  your  own,  at 
least  during  your  sojourn  under  the  same  roof — 
yet  in  England  a  stranger  in  such  circumstances, 
far  from  being  treated  with  the  extra  courtesy 
due  to  his  solitary  position,  must  be  solemnly 


i86  THE  LONELY  LADY 

and  severely  ostracised  until  the  magic  words  of 
introduction  have  been  spoken. 

But  Jeanne  was  as  young  in  spirit  as  in  ap- 
pearance; and  she  presently  recovered  from  this 
rebuff,  in  the  excitement,  incidental  to  rusticity, 
of  beholding  a  face  she  recognised  in  an  unknown 
crowd. 

Mrs.  Wheler,  smarter  than  ever,  was  seated 
at  right  angles  to  her  in  the  middle  of  another 
row  of  gilt  chairs,  and  Jeanne  could  not  help 
bestowing  upon  her  a  timid,  but  friendly  glance, 
which  somehow  managed  to  express  recognition, 
greeting,  and  apology  for  past  errors,  in  one 
fleeting  smile. 

Mrs.  Wheler's  mechanical  head  bowed  politely, 
before  her  dormant  intellect  had  time  to  grasp 
the  fact  that  this  was  a  person  whom  she  had  no 
intention  of  admitting  to  her  acquaintance  at 
all ;  but  Jeanne,  happy  in  the  salutation  obtained, 
was  spared  the  contemplation  of  Mrs.  Wheler's 
after  expression,  for  her  attention  was  attracted 
elsewhere.  The  violoncello  now  began  its  plaintive 
song,  and  the  well-bred  crowd  was  instantly 
hushed  into  attentive  silence. 

Jeanne's  experience  of  music  had  been  hitherto 
confined  almost  entirely  to  the  efforts  of  the 
choir  at  Pen-y-waun,  the  harmonium,  played 
with  tormenting  inaccuracy  by  Mrs.  Da  vies,  and 
Cecilia's  remarkable  performances  upon  the  piano- 
forte; diversified  by  variations  upon  the  con- 


OF  GROSVENOR  SQUARE  187 

certina  executed  by  John  Evans  on  Saturday 
nights  when  Uncle  Roberts  could  be  persuaded 
to  put  up  with  the  noise. 

The  brilliant  exception  to  these  deplorable 
experiences  had  been  the  visits  of  a  strolling 
Welsh  harpist  to  her  uncle's  farm,  and  the  un- 
accompanied part-singing  of  the  men  in  the 
village,  whose  souls  were  musical  within  them, 
though  their  voices  lacked  training,  and  who  con- 
sequently sang  a  great  deal  better  without  Mrs. 
Davies  and  her  harmonium  than  with  them. 

Thus  the  music  of  Schumann's  Traumerei, 
played  by  a  master  hand,  took  Jeanne  unawares, 
and  charmed  her  into  an  utter  forgetfulness  of 
her  surroundings,  her  nervousness,  and  her 
isolation  in  the  midst  of  a  crowd, 

Breathless  and  entranced  she  listened,  the 
tears  dropping  unheeded  from  her  brown  eyes 
on  to  the  little  black  gloved  hands  tightly  clasped 
in  her  lap. 

The  great  'cellist,  playing  his  little  selection 
of  the  Kinderscenen,  had  no  such  thrilled  and 
absorbed  listener,  had  he  known  it,  as  that  igno- 
rant country  maiden,  in  all  the  musical  and 
cultivated  audience  assembled  before  him. 

When  it  was  over,  she  came  to  herself  with 
a  start,  and  dried  her  tears,  and  looked  anxiously 
around  her,  to  see  if  any  one  had  noticed  them. 

But  when  the  audience  had  applauded  the 
performer  writh  subdued  and  regulated  enthusiasm, 


i88    ;  THE  LONELY  LADY 

the  hum  of  conversation  was  renewed,  and  Jeanne 
found  she  might  cry  at  will,  for  her  neighbours 
were  far  too  absorbed  in  each  other  to  observe  her. 

Impatiently  she  awaited  the  next  item  on  the 
programme.  A  lady  sang  three  German  songs, 
one  after  the  other,  allowing  a  short  pause  for 
encouragement  between  each;  but  this  time, 
though  the  applause  was  more  enthusiastic, 
Jeanne  remained  unmoved;  neither  the  voice  of 
the  singer,  nor  the  words  of  a  language  she  did 
not  understand,  appealed  to  her.  She  became 
conscious  that  the  room  was  insufferably  hot, 
in  spite  of  its  size;  or  was  it  only  that  she  was 
shaken  by  her  emotion,  and  needed  fresh  air  to 
recover  herself? 

At  the  end  of  the  third  song  she  heard  a  voice 
behind  her  saying, 

"Is  the  Duke  going  to  play?" 

"Oh,  I  suppose  so,"  was  the  answer. 

"  He  plays  so  delightfully. " 

"Quite  charming.  But  I  hope  it  will  be 
Chopin. " 

"  Oh!  he  plays  his  own  compositions,  sometimes, 
doesn't  he?  Aren't  they  good?" 

"  Excellent !     But  I  prefer  Chopin. " 

A  laugh. 

Jeanne  felt  indignant  on  her  cousin's  account. 
Why  should  Chopin  be  preferred? 

Perhaps  she  understood  presently,  when  (with 
quite  a  glow  of  cousinly  affection  and  sympathy) 


OF  GROSVENOR  SQUARE  189 

she  saw  the  Duke  mounting  the  low  platform, 
and  heard  the  slight  demonstration  of  polite 
applause  (in  which  poor  Jeanne  joined  with  all 
her  might,  indignant  it  should  be  no  louder)  as 
he  took  his  seat  before  the  piano.  The  long- 
haired gentleman  shut  down  the  music  holder, 
and  propped  open  the  top  of  the  instrument. 

The  Duke  had  no  affectations  and  no  manner- 
isms ;  yet  he  played  brilliantly. 

"Chopin,"  whispered  the  lady  behind  Jeanne. 

And  again  Jeanne  forgot  where  she  was. 

She  thought  of  Louis  sailing  away  over  far 
seas,  bound  for  the  desert  of  Somaliland,  full  of 
hope,  and  youth,  and  courage;  this  strange  new 
Louis  of  the  photograph,  lean  and  soldierly  in 
his  khaki  uniform;  grown  from  a  merry  boy  to 
strong  and  serious  manhood. 

She  thought  how  much  she  loved  him,  and  of 
the  days  when  they  had  climbed  the  Pen-y-waun 
hills  together  to  Coed-Ithel,  and  ridden  the  cart- 
horses to  water,  and  hunted  in  cowsheds,  hay- 
lofts and  bams,  for  hens'  eggs;  and  beaten 
the  orchard  trees  to  shake  down  the  cider 
apples. 

She  thought  of  the  first  time  he  had  left  home, 
and  gone,  in  the  care  of  the  head-master,  who 
knew  his  history,  and  had  taken  a  fancy  to  him, 
to  live  at  the  grammar  school  at  Tref-goch.  A 
little  chubby  fellow  of  seven  and  a  half ;  even  then 
determined  to  get  the  best  education  in  his  power ; 


1 90  THE  LONELY  LADY 

even  then  master,  though  he  knew  it  not,  of  his 
stubborn  uncle's  heart. 

She  remembered  that  she  had  walked  five  of 
the  seven  miles  to  town  with  the  boy  and  the  man, 
knowing  that  she  must  return  alone  to  Coed- 
Ithel ;  that  the  master  had  chanced  to  be  looking 
another  way  when  the  little  boy  stood  on  tiptoe 
(for  Jeanne  was  taller  than  her  twin  until  they 
reached  their  teens,  when  he  shot  up  far  above 
her),  and  put  his  arms  round  his  sister's  neck, 
and  said  wistfully  "  Good-bye,  Jenny  " ;  an  embrace 
which  took  her  so  by  surprise — for  Louis  was 
at  the  age  when  kisses  were  displeasing  to  his 
manly  dignity — that  she  had  hardly  responded 
at  the  time,  though  she  wept  at  night  afterwards 
when  she  recollected  it. 

The  scene  came  back  to  her  now  with  a  vivid- 
ness that  surprised  herself:  the  long,  white  road 
by  the  river;  the  little  boy  with  his  dusty  boots 
and  cherub  face;  the  small  figure  trotting  into 
the  distance  by  the  big  man's  side;  and  occa- 
sionally turning  to  flutter  a  grimy  little  hand- 
kerchief. .  .  .  Louis,  bravely  trudging  into  the 
unknown,  with  a  heart  full  of  courage;  and  yet 
always  that  sweetness  of  regret  for  the  sister  he 
must  leave  behind,  in  that  long  vanished  time, 
even  as  now.  She  was  surprised  at  the  force 
and  strength  of  her  imagination — until  the  Duke's 
music  died  away,  and  her  emotions  with  it;  and 
left  her  pale  and  quiet,  realising  that  it  was 


OF  GROSVENOR  SQUARE  191 

Chopin,  after  all,  who  had  inspired  and  glorified 
her  tender  memories  of  the  past. 

She  wished  that  the  concert  might  last  for 
ever,  and  was  too  much  absorbed  to  notice  that 
here  and  there  were  gaps  in  the  audience  now, 
where  a  few  of  the  guests  had  melted  away  during 
the  intervals;  their  places  sometimes  being  filled 
by  newcomers,  and  sometimes  not. 

Thus  she  did  not  perceive  that  the  vacant 
chair  on  her  right  had  been  quietly  taken,  and 
she  started  violently  as  a  voice  in  low  tones  ad- 
dressed her  by  name. 

"  How  do  you  do,  Cousin  Jeanne  ? "  said  the  Duke. 

He  saw  immediately  the  traces  of  tears  on  her 
long  black  lashes,  and  the  perception  made  his 
voice  especially  gentle. 

She  instinctively  lowered  her  own  clear  tones 
to  correspond. 

"Oh,  Cousin  Denis,  I  never  heard  anything 
like  it.  And  you  played  Chopin." 

"Are  you  particularly  fond  of  Chopin?" 

"I  never  heard  of  him.  They  said  it  was 
Chopin.  But  I  shall  always  like  him  now.  Like  ! 
What  a  tame  word.  I  shall  always  wonder  at  him, 
and  love  him,  and  reverence  him — since  he  wrote 
music  like  that.  I  even  forgot  it  was  you  who 
were  playing." 

"I  am  very  glad  you  forget  that,"  he  said 
simply. 


THE  LONELY  LADY 

"Is  it  nearly  all  over?" 

"There  is  an  instrumental  quartette;  and 
I  am  afraid  that  is  all." 

"Ought  I  to  go?"  said  Jeanne  ingenuously. 

"  I  hope  every  one  will  stay  for  that, "  said  the 
Duke,  politely. 

"  It  was  very  kind  of  the  Duchess  to  invite  me ; 
do  you  think  I  ought  to  thank  her?  I  am  sure  it 
was  you  who  put  it  into  her  head. " 

"She  has  these  little  concerts  chiefly  to  please 
me,"  said  the  Duke,  "she  does  not  care  much 
for  music  herself." 

''And  you — but  I  need  not  ask  if  you  care — " 

"  I  am  afraid  I  care  too  much, "  he  said. 

"Can  one  care  too  much?" 

But  the  quartette  began ;  and  he  only  smiled  at 
her,  and  said  nothing. 

She  had  no  opportunity  for  thanking  the 
Duchess,  though  she  waited  timidly  for  some  mo- 
ments, trying  to  do  so;  hovering  on  the  outskirts 
of  the  little  group  who  stood  talking  and  laugh- 
ing round  their  hostess,  and  who  were  evidently 
intimate  friends. 

Her  cousin  Denis  waited  at  the  head  of  the 
staircase  for  her,  as  she  made  her  little  efforts  to 
approach  his  mother;  and  then  smiled  and  made 
her  a  gentle  sign,  which  she  instantly  obeyed. 

She  followed  the  down-stream,  and  watched 
his  slow  progress  through  the  hall,  and  his 
courteous  response  to  the  greetings  and  compli- 


OF  GROSVENOR  SQUARE  193 

ments  from  one  and  another;  then  she  heard  him 
order  a  servant  close  to  the  hall  door  to  call  her 
carriage ;  and  he  came  back  to  her  side. 

"  When  may  I  come  and  see  you  again,  Cousin 
Jeanne?"  said  the  Duke. 

"Whenever  you  like,"  said  Jeanne,  happy  in 
the  recollection  of  her  sensible  uncle's  permission. 

"Then  I  will  come  to-morrow,"  said  Cousin 
Denis,  with  the  little  bow  that  half  amused  and 
half  embarrassed  Jeanne. 

At  home  she  found  her  first  letters  from  Louis 
in  Somaliland  awaiting  her;  and  the  hopefulness 
and  good  spirits  which  inspired  the  writer  im- 
mediately communicated  themselves  to  her  as 
she  read: 

"...  Here  we  are  at  last  on  terra  fir  ma.  The 
country  is  open  sandy  desert,  not  nearly  so  hot  as  I 
expected,  as  there  is  a  strong  steady  N.  E.  wind 
always  blowing,  so  the  nights  are  cool.  We  have 
a  nice  roomy  camping  ground  with  good  wells,  and 
we  are  all  in  tents,  a  luxury  we  enjoy  here  for  the 
last  time,  as  no  tents  will  be  taken  on  the  march.  .  . 
Saturday  I  rode  out  and  shot  a  buck,  there  are  plenty 
to  be  got  about  six  miles  inland;  they  are  a  kind  of 
gazelle,  and  very  good  eating.  .  .  .  This  morning  I 
wandered  along  the  beautiful  sandy  beach,  and 
watched  the  great  green  waves  flinging  their  white 
manes  about  and  felt  all  the  love  for  the  sea  which 
I  always  experience  when  I'm  on  shore. " 


194  THE  LONELY  LADY 

Then  followed  a  spirited  description  of  the 
ingenuity  and  handiness  of  the  blue  jackets 
in  swimming  the  horses  ashore  through  the 
surf,  which  Jeanne  only  skimmed  in  her  eager- 
ness to  arrive  at  the  more  personal  parts  of  the 
letter. 

"...  We  are  busy  working  out  our  transport, 
cheese-paring  and  weighing  everything,  and  won- 
dering what  we  can  do  without  and  what,  if  anything, 
we  can  possibly  take.  ...  500  camels  arrived  yes- 
terday from  Berber  a,  and  some  African  boys  for 
work, — and  another  500  are  expected  on  another 
transport  soon;  they  are  swum  or  dragged  ashore 
in  the  same  way  as  the  horses.  .  .  .  My  best  chum 
writes  congratulating  me  on  coming  here,  and  says 
what  lots  of  fellows  say,  who  have  gone  home,  that 
England  is  a  happy  goal  in  the  abstract,  but  a  little 
disappointing  in  realisation;  he  advises  me  to  stick 
to  every  bit  of  active  work  I  can  get  till  I'm  forty. 
This  I  am  perfectly  willing  to  do,  but  all  his  wisdom 
does  n't  prevent  me  from  sighing  for  a  glimpse 
of  you,  my  Jeannie,  and  I  'm  a  bit  impatient  to 
be  up  and  off.  .  .  .  For  from  the  day  we  leave 
Obbia  I  shall  feel  I  am  trekking  towards  you — and 
happiness. " 

"It  is  really  almost  as  though  he  had  started 
on  the  journey  home, "  cried  Jeanne,  beaming 
with  joy,  and  oblivious  of  the  long  stretches  of 
waterless  burning  desert  yet  to  be  traversed 
before  Louis  could  set  sail  for  England. 


OF  GROSVENOR  SQUARE  195 

"Yes,  ma'am,  I  'm  glad  indeed,  and  when 
does  the  young  master  think  to  be  at  home?" 
said  Dunham,  who  now  evinced  more  interest 
in  Louis  than  in  any  other  human  creaure. 

"  He  says  he  hopes  probably  in  the  early  sum- 
mer, so  far  as  can  be  foreseen.  Oh,  Mrs.  Dunham, 
I  have  had  such  a  delightful  afternoon,  and  now 
these  letters  to  keep  me  company  all  the  evening, " 
said  Jeanne.  "And — that  reminds  me,"  she 
added  nervously,  "that  the  Duke  said  he  would 
come  and  see  me  to-morrow.  And  I  wanted 
to  ask  you — do  you  think  Mrs.  Pyke  would  mind 
very  much  if  the  pictures  were  uncovered?  The 
Duke  said  he  would  like  to  see  them.  If  it  would 
not  be  giving  too  much  trouble,  and  if  you  think 
Mrs.  Pyke  would  not  mind?" 

"It  's  you  that  's  mistress  here,  ma'am,  not 
Pyke,  I  hope,"  said  Mrs.  Dunham,  with  a  sudden 
access  of  deference  for  which  Jeanne  was  at  a  loss 
to  account.  "  And  if  she  's  not  well  enough  to  see 
to  it — and  what  can  be  expected  at  her  age? — 
I  '11  speak  to  the  housemaids  myself.  It  's  time 
everything  in  the  galleries  was  uncovered  again, 
for  poor  Miss  Marney  always  had  it  done  from  time 
to  time;  and  since  we  had  the  electric  light  put 
into  the  house,  she  used  to  like  to  see  the  saloons 
all  lit  up  now  and  then.  I  '11  send  round  to  Storr 
&  Warner,  the  furniture  people,  at  once,"  said 
Dunham,  suavely.  "When  did  you  say  his 
Grace  would  be  here?" 


THE  LONELY  LADY 

"To-morrow;  I  think — about  tea-time,"  said 
Jeanne. 

"Then  I  daresay  you  '11  wish  tea  served  in  the 
music-room  for  a  change;  and  the  fires  lighted. 
I  '11  speak  to  Hewitt  and  to  the  head  housemaid. 
We  can  easily  get  it  done  in  time,  Miss  Jane, 
between  us." 

It  needed  but  the  approval  of  Dunham  to  fill 
the  cup  of  the  lonely  lady's  felicity  full  to  over- 
flowing. 


CHAPTER  XII 
THE  PARTY  IN  THE  PICTURE  GALLERY 

HEWITT  mounted  the  echoing  stone  staircase 
with  considerate  deliberation,  and  ushered  the 
Duke  into  the  middle  of  three  communicating 
saloons  on  the  drawing-room  floor. 

The  tapestry  chairs  and  sofas  had  been  un- 
covered; and  the  great  folding  doors  had  all  been 
thrown  open,  so  that  a  long,  broad  gallery  was 
formed,  brilliantly  lighted,  and  hung  with  pic- 
tures from  end  to  end. 

The  music -room  was  the  largest  of  the  three 
lofty  and  spacious  saloons;  and  the  little  figure 
in  black,  seated  behind  a  low  table  and  a  steaming 
urn,  at  the  far  end  of  the  gallery,  looked  quite 
a  long  way  off,  and  very  solitary. 

But  Jeanne  came  hurrying  forward  between 
the  long  lines  of  full-length  portraits,  and  greeted 
her  cousin  warmly  on  the  threshold  of  the  music- 
room. 

"I  had  the  furniture  uncovered,  and  the  cur- 
tains drawn,  and  the  lights  turned  on,  all  for 
you,"  she  said,  delighted,  "so  that  VQU  can  look 

197 


198  THE  LONELY  LADY 

at  the  pictures,  or  play  on  the  piano,  or  whatever 
you  choose.  Mrs.  Dunham  was  so  kind  about  it ; 
she  said  everything  should  be  arranged  properly 
jtist  as  though  we  were  giving  a  party. " 

"It  is  very  kind  of  you  to  invite  me  to  your 
party,"  he  said,  laughing,  "though  I  am  afraid, 
now  I  come  to  think  of  it,  that  I  invited  myself!" 

"  I  am  At  Home,  like  the  Duchess, "  said  Jeanne, 
seriously,  "and  I  am  very  glad  you  have  come. 
Do  you  know,"  she  looked  round  her  a  little 
fearfully,  "it  was  rather  ghostly  before  you 
came,  with  these  ladies  and  gentlemen  watching 
me  from  the  walls,  all  lighted  up,  and  looking 
so  lifelike.  I  felt  a  little  as  if  I  were  really  giving 
a  party,  and  as  if  only  dead  people  were  at  it. 
You  may  imagine  how  nice  it  was  to  see  a  real 
live  human  being  come  in.  It  feels  quite  dif- 
ferent now,  even  if  one's  voice  does  echo  through 
the  rooms  more  than  one  could  wish. " 

"You  must  be  very  lonely  indeed,  living 
by  yourself  in  this  big  house, "  said  the  Duke, 
wonderingly. 

"I  am  getting  used  to  it,  and  I  do  not  mind 
nearly  so  much  now  that  I  sleep  on  the  top  floor 
close  to  the  maids.  When  first  I  came  they  put 
me  in  the  corner  room  there, ' '  she  pointed  to  the 
closed  doors  behind  her,  "quite  by  myself  on 
this  storey.  I  was  dreadfully  nervous  at  night; 
though  less  nervous  than  I  should  have  been 
if  I  nad  known  that  all  the  Marneys  of  Orsett 


OF  GROSVENOR  SQUARE  199 

who  ever  lived  were  lining  these  walls,  trying  to 
stare  through  their  shrouds,"  she  shuddered 
slightly. 

"  I  am  sure  it  is  bad  for  you, "  said  the  Duke. 
"  Is  n't  there  some  one  who  could  come  here  and 
take  care  of  you?  you  look  much  too  young  to 
be  here  all  alone." 

"It  is  my  duty  to  take  care  of  the  house,  and 
the  furniture — and  I  am  only  alone  till  Louis 
conies  home,"  she  said  wistfully.  "I  am  waiting 
— waiting — always  waiting  for  him.  Sometimes 
it  seems  very  long." 

"  How  do  you  occupy  yourself? "  said  the  Duke, 
accepting  the  tea  and  cake  she  offered. 

"I  don't  occupy  myself  very  much,"  she 
answered,  honestly.  "You  see  I  am  accustomed 
to  a  very  different  kind  of  life,  Cousin  Denis.  I 
have  always  lived  on  a  farm,  and  helped  in  all 
kinds  of  household  work ;  and  here  there  is  nothing 
of  that  kind  to  be  done.  So  I  am  very  dull  and 
unoccupied." 

"  But  there  are  other  kinds  of  work  besides 
farm  work,"  said  the  Duke,  in  a  tone  of  gentle 
raillery. 

She  shook  her  head. 

"  I  have  found  none. " 

"You  read?" 

"  I  tried,"  said  Jeanne,  "  as  soon  as  the  book- 
cases were  unlocked.  But  you  have  no  idea 
what  dull  old  books  they  are.  All  f's  instead  of 


200  THE  LONELY  LADY 

s's,  and  most  difficult  to  understand.  Mrs. 
Dunham  says  Aunt  Caroline  used  to  subscribe 
to  a  circulating  library,  but  Uncle  Roberts  would 
be  so  shocked  at  my  reading  novels;  and  I  felt, 
too,  I  might  be  getting  the  wrong  ones  without 
Louis  to  guide  me.  He  used  to  send  me  books 
sometimes.  But  I  know  those  almost  by  heart. 
He  sent  me  cheap  editions  of  what  he  says  are 
classical  standard  works,  and  yet  delightful  to 
read,  and  poetry.  And  when  he  went  mad  over 
Cyrano  de  Bergerac  (he  is  always  enthusiastic 
over  some  book  or  other)  he  sent  me  a  copy  of 
that,  and  implored  me  to  read  it.  But  my 
French  is  so  very  bad. " 

"You  could  improve  it,"  he  suggested. 

"  I  finished  my  education  at  sixteen, "  said 
Jeanne,  quite  seriously.  "You  see,"  she  ex- 
plained, "  I  shared  Cecilia's  lessons  at  the  Rectory 
till  she  was  eighteen,  and  then  she  married;  so 
of  course  the  governess  went  away,  and  I  could 
learn  no  more.  I  don't  believe  she  knew  French 
very  well  herself,  either." 

"Then  I  should  be  the  more  inclined  to  take 
lessons  now,"  said  the  Duke,  always  with  the 
same  sound  of  raillery,  half  amused,  half  tender, 
in  his  voice. 

"  But  I  am  twenty-five, "  said  Jeanne. 

"So  am  I — but  I  am  still  very  busy  learning 
things  I  don't  know. " 

She  smiled. 


OF  GROSVENOR  SQUARE  201 

"  I  never  thought  of  it,  I  never  heard  of  people 
taking  lessons  at  twenty-five!" 

"Think  of  it  now;  and  I  will,  if  you  like,  find 
somebody  who  will  be  very  glad  to  give  you 
lessons. " 

"Thank  you,  Cousin  Denis.  It  is  an  excellent 
idea,"  said  Jeanne,  gratefully,  "and  it  will  help 
to  pass  the  time  till  Louis  conies  home.  Do 
you  think  I  could  learn  to  speak  it  really  well 
before  June?" 

"  I  think  you  could  learn  a  great  deal. " 

"  How  glad  Louis  would  be.  He  knows  it  very 
well  indeed,  but  then  he  is  so  clever  at  languages. 
He  worked  at  French  and  German  with  all  his 
might  when  he  was  cramming  for  Sandhurst. 
But  I  am  clever  at  nothing,  and  though  I  boast 
of  my  French  descent  I  scarcely  know  a  dozen 
words  of  what  should  be  my  native  language. " 

"London  affords  plenty  of  facilities  for  most 
studies, "  said  the  Duke;  " if  I  were  you  I  should 
lose  not  a  moment,  but  begin  at  once  whilst  I  had 
so  much  time  on  my  hands.  I  noticed  yesterday 
you  were  fond  of  music.  Can  you  play?" 

"  Not  a  note. " 

"I  'm  afraid  I  'm  rather  glad!  It  is  so  much 
better  not  to  play  at  all  than  to  play  a  little," 
said  the  Duke,  whimsically. 

"But  you  can  sing?" 

"Oh,  yes,  I  can  sing;  but  not  like  the  lady 
who  sang  at  your  concert." 


202  THE  LONELY  LADY 

"Heaven  forbid,"  said  the  Duke,  with  great 
fervour.  "  Still,  as  I  played  to  you  at  my  party, 
I  hope  you  will  sing  to  me  at  yours. " 

"  I  know  more  hymns  than  songs, "  said  Jeanne, 
"  but  I  can  sing  '  Rock  me  to  Sleep,  Mother, ' 
and  '  We  are  coming,  Sister  Mary, '  and  one  or  two 
songs  like  that,  if  you  don't  mind  my  singing 
without  an  accompaniment?" 

"  I  hoped  you  would  let  me  accompany  you. " 

"But  I  have  no  music." 

"I  think  I  can  manage  to  improvise,  if  you 
sing  nothing  very  difficult,"  he  said,  smiling. 

She  looked  at  him  respectfully,  now  feeling 
sure  that  he  must  be  a  genius. 

"It  is  very  easy  to  sing  in  an  empty  room, 
I  find, "  said  Jeanne,  when  the  last  echoes  of  her 
clear  soprano  voice  had  died  away. 

The  Duke  sprang  from  the  music  seat,  and  took 
her  hand  impetuously. 

"Cousin  Jeanne,  promise  me  you  will  never 
take  any  singing  lessons?" 

"I  did  not  know  I  needed  any,"  said  Jeanne, 
astonished,  and  without  any  idea  of  the  depths 
of  ignorance  she  thus  naively  revealed. 

He  laughed,  and  laughed  again;  but  always 
with  the  same  kindness — almost  tenderness — in 
his  blue  eyes  which  made  his  laughter  pleasant 
to  hear. 

"Is  it  bad,  my  singing?"  she  asked,  laughing 


OF  GROSVENOR  SQUARE  203 

in  sympathy,  and  without  any  anxiety  as  to  his 
reply.  To  Jeanne  there  were  but  two  kinds 
of  singing.  One  was  in  tune,  and  one  was  not; 
and  she  knew  she  sang  in  tune. 

"It  is  charming.  That  is  why  I  should 
be  so  sorry  to  see  you  learning  to  make  faces, 
and  produce  your  voice  properly.  You  sing  like 
the  peasants  in  Italy — naturally ;  only  not  through 
your  nose  as  they  do!  you  sing  like  a  thrush  in 
the  fields  or  a  lark  in  the  sky — without  an  effort 
or  a  thought.  And  your  voice  is  as  sweet  and 
true  as  — your  heart. " 

"Oh,  Cousin  Denis!"  said  Jeanne,  rather 
shocked,  and  yet  half  pleased. 

"I  could  not  have  said  all  that,  you  know — 
if  I  had  not  been  your  cousin, "  said  the  Duke, 
with  his  funny  little  bow.  "You  are  not  angry 
with  me  for  saying  it,  I  hope?" 

"How  could  I  be  angry?  It  sounded  very — 
very  nice,  only  rather  poetical,"  said  Jeanne, 
blushing. 

He  did  not  answer  this,  but  turned  to  the  piano 
again,  and  his  fingers  presently  wandered  into 
an  old  melody,  which  he  took  as  the  theme  of 
an  improvisation,  and  played  rather  stormily 
throughout  the  removal  of  the  tea  things — by 
Hewitt  and  William  on  tiptoe. 

"And  now  for  the  pictures, "  he  said. 

"  I  cannot  tell  you  much  about  them, "  said 
Jeanne,  rather  sadly,  "for  though  the  names  of 


204  THE  LONELY  LADY 

the  people  are  written  on  the  backs  of  all  the  por- 
traits, luckily,  they  are  much  too  heavy  to  move. 
And  no  one  is  left  who  knows  anything  about 
them  now  Aunt  Caroline  is  dead,  except  Mrs. 
Pyke,  and  Mrs.  Dunham  thinks  she  is  getting 
rather  childish.  They  did  n't  dare  tell  her  even 
about  the  uncovering  of  the  pictures. " 

"  If  I  were  you  I  would  not  have  them  covered 
up  again.  It  is  not  usual  to  cover  up  pictures. 
Suppose  one  of  the  more  valuable  ones  were 
cut  out  of  the  frame,  why,  no  one  would  be 
any  the  wiser.  Such  things  have  happened." 

"I  will  certainly  keep  them  uncovered,"  said 
Jeanne,  in  alarm.  "Aunt  Caroline  had  a  mania 
for  covering  up  everything,  even  her  hands"; 
she  thought  of  the  white  kid  gloves.  "  Mr.  Valen- 
tine said  that  some  of  these  paintings  were  very 
valuable  indeed,  but  that  some  were  only  copies 
of  great  pictures. " 

"Here  are  two  fine  Van  Dycks, "  said  the 
Duke,  pointing  out  a  cavalier  Marney  and  his 
dame,  "and  that  must  certainly  be  a  Sir  Joshua. 
I  saw  some  wonderful  Dutch  landscapes  as  I 
came  in. " 

"Did  you  like  them?"  said  Jeanne,  surprised. 
"  I  thought  them  very  ugly. " 

Though  she  could  tell  her  cousin  Denis  so 
little  about  the  pictures,  it  presently  appeared 
that  he  could  tell  her  a  great  deal. 

He  recognised  the  work  of  various  artists,  and 


OF  GROSVENOR  SQUARE  205 

was  evidently  delighted  to  examine  it  in  detail. 
She  followed  him  from  one  picture  to  another  in 
great  amaze.  Louis  knew  nothing  about  pictures! 

"  Do  you  really  mean  you  don't  like  this  Dutch 
merry-making?"  he  cried.  "This  is  Jan  Steen. 
Look  at  the  peasants'  homely  faces  overflowing 
with  satisfaction.  Or  this  old  schoolmaster  by 
Van  Ostade?  Or  this  charming  courtyard  with 
the  light  streaming  through  the  doorway,  of 
de  Hooghe?" 

"It  is  all  Greek  to  me,"  she  said  honestly. 
"But  I  see  that  when  one  looks  into  them  they 
grow  more  interesting.  I  like  better  the  pictures 
in  the  last  room.  Oh,  this  painting  of  a  village 
street  is  one  of  those  which  Mr.  Valentine  told 
me  were  so  valuable. " 

"It  is  a  Hobbema,"  said  the  Duke,  instantly. 

He  tore  himself  away,  but  reluctantly,  from 
the  Dutch  collection;  and  followed  Jeanne  to 
the  last  room,  which  contained  a  few  fine  copies 
of  famous  Italian  works,  and  a  landscape  of 
Corot's,  on  the  end  wall.  It  was  not,  however, 
to  these  that  Jeanne  directed  his  attention,  but 
to  the  pictures  which  crowded  both  sides  of  the 
gallery. 

Here  were  displayed  examples  of  English 
modern  art  in  oil  and  water-colour;  genre  pic- 
tures and  landscapes,  painted  by  the  most  famous 
artists  of  the  day,  and  crowded  together  in  very 
inartistic  confusion. 


206  THE  LONELY  LADY 

True  to  her  principles,  poor  Miss  Caroline 
Marney  had  spent  all  her  superfluous  income 
in  bringing  the  family  collection  of  pictures  up 
to  date. 

"I  like  these  by  far  the  best,"  said  Jeanne, 
lifting  her  brown,  honest  eyes  to  the  Duke's 
face,  "  and  more  especially  do  I  like  the  landscapes ; 
because  they  seem  real  to  me,  and  true  to  nature, 
and  I  can  understand  them. " 

She  showed  him  the  miniatures  of  her  French 
ancestors,  and  told  him  the  sad  little  story  of 
their  lives  and  deaths;  and  the  time  sped  so 
quickly  that  when  cousin  Denis  at  last  remem- 
bered to  look  at  his  watch,  he  found  it  was 
almost  dinner-time,  and  rose  full  of  confusion  and 
apology  to  take  his  leave. 

"Time  flies  so  fast  in  company, "  sighed  Jeanne. 

"What  shall  you  do  now — when  I  leave  you?" 
he  asked. 

"I  shall  go  down  and  have  my  dinner.  I  am 
obliged  to  have  late  dinner  every  night,"  said 
poor  Jeanne,  "or  Mrs.  Dunham  says  it  would 
give  the  servants  nothing  to  do,  and  be  very 
bad  for  them. " 

"You  dine  alone?" 

"  Quite  alone. " 

"Are  you  always  alone  at  meals?"  he  cried, 
compassionately. 

"  Up  to  the  present  I  have  been ;  but  on  Saturday 


OF  GROSVENOR  SQUARE  207 

Cecilia  and  her  husband  are  coming  to  dine. 
They  could  not  come  before,"  she  explained, 
"because  Mr.  Hogg- Watson  had  not  a  free 
evening." 

"  Is  that  Hogg- Wat  son  the  lecturer?  I  heard 
him  the  other  night.  He  is  very  clever. " 

"You  seem  to  know  everything  and  every- 
body," said  Jeanne,  with  great  admiration.  "I 
cannot  think  how  you  came  to  know  so  much 
about  pictures?" 

"  I  know  very  little ;  but  you  see  I  am  debarred 
from  the  active  amusements  fellows  of  my  age 
usually  have  to  distract  them,  so  I  've  had  to 
find  my  interest  in  other  things ;  travelling,  art, 
music,  and  so  forth,"  he  said,  in  a  matter-of-fact 
tone,  but  Jeanne  divined  that  the  subject  of  his 
infirmity  was  a  painful  one. 

"  I  suppose  you  would  not, — I  wonder  if  you 
would — is  it  proper  to  ask  you  to  come  and  dine 
on  Saturday  too?"  said  Jeanne,  wistfully.  "You 
are  so  kind  you  would  tell  me  if  I  were  making 
another  mistake  in  asking  you.  But  when  I 
told  Mrs.  Dunham  about  the  Hogg-Watsons 
coming,  she  said  I  ought  to  have  a  fourth,  and 
make  the  table  even.  I  was  afraid  she  would 
be  rather  annoyed  with  me  for  letting  them 
come  so  soon  (comparatively)  after  poor  Aunt 
Caroline's  death;  but  she  said  nothing  under  six 
people  could  be  counted  as  a  dinner  party;  it 
could  only  be  a  little  dinner,  and  it  would  be  a 


2o8  THE  LONELY  LADY 

relief  to  her  to  think  Hewitt  and  William  had 
something  extra  to  do." 

"I  think  it  would  be  exceedingly  proper  to 
ask  me,"  said  the  Duke,  promptly,  "and  I  will 
certainly  come.  Thank  you  very  much. " 

" Thank  you,"  said  Jeanne,  joyfully.  "  I  was  so 
afraid  you  might  be  engaged  like  the  Professor; 
but  I  suppose  you  are  not  celebrated,  as  he  is. 
I  will  write  you  a  little  note,  and  tell  you  about 
the  time  and  everything.  Now  I  shall  look 
forward  to  it.  I  was  feeling  rather  nervous,  for 
I  have  never  been  used  to  late  dinner  at  all,  till 
I  came  here,  far  less  asked  any  one  to  dine  with 
me.  But  now  you  will  sit  at  the  head  of  the 
table  in  Louis's  place;  and  perhaps  you  will  be 
kind  enough  to  frown  at  me  if  I  do  anything 
wrong." 

"With  pleasure,"  said  the  Duke.  "And  I 
shall  like  to  get  the  little  note.  Be  sure  you  don't 
forget  to  send  it. " 

"I  never  forget  anything,"  said  Jeanne,  in 
simple  good  faith. 

As  the  Duke  drove  home  to  dress,  as  fast  as  a 
hansom  could  take  him,  he  noted  in  his  pocket 
book  the  necessity  for  telegraphing  his  excuses 
immediately  to  the  country  house  where  he  was 
engaged  to  stay  for  the  approaching  week-end. 


CHAPTER  XIII 
THE  LITTLE  DINNER 

"You  had  best  wear  black  grenadine,  ma'am," 
said  Dunham.  "That  is  light,  yet  not  too  light. 
It  is  well  over  the  two  calendar  months  now, 
and  you  need  not  mind  having  an  evening  dress 
made  simple,  without  any  crape  at  all.  We  can 
go  to  the  dressmaker  in  Mount  Street,  who  did 
plain  things  for  my  poor  lady.  She  would  have 
liked  to  know  you  was  employing  her.  And  if 
I  passed  her  the  word  as  it  was  something  special, 
she  would  make  you  up  a  plain  gown  in  two  days.  " 

"  I  thought  I  should  like  black  velvet, "  said 
Jeanne,  but  diffidently.  "It  has  been  almost 
the  dream  of  my  life  to  have  a  velvet  dress. " 

"Well,  'm,  I  suppose  it  's  a  dream  as  comes  to 
every  woman  sooner  or  later,  gentle  or  simple. 
Years  upon  years  I  used  to  wonder  if  I  'd  ever  get 
a  silk  gown;  and  no  sooner  had  I  got  it,  than  I 
could  n't  keep  my  thoughts  off  velvet  myself, 
though  unsuitable.  But  you  're  too  young  for 
it  yet,  Miss  Jane,  or  too  young-looking,  which 
comes  to  the  same  thing. " 

"I  want  it  to  be  as  nice  as  possible,"  said 
M  209 


210  THE  LONELY  LADY 

Jeanne,  anxiously.  "  As  it 's  my  first  real  evening 
dress,  you  know." 

"And  who  would  make  up  a  Genoa  velvet,  as 
it  should  be  made,  in  two  days?  Besides  it's 
being  nothing  at  all  without  good  lace — which 
I  dare  n't  give  you  out — though  your  poor  aunt 
had  plenty  put  by — without  the  young  master's 
leave,  for  it 's  worth  its  weight  in  gold ;  and  he  '11 
be  wanting  it  for  his  lady  one  of  these  days;  as 
is  his  right,  Miss  Jane, "  said  Dunham,  who  always 
spoke  as  though  she  were  safeguarding  the  in- 
terests of  Louis  from  any  possible  inroads  his 
sister  might  be  tempted  to  make,  during  his  ab- 
sence. "No,  it  must  be  grenadine,  and  nothing 
else." 

So  it  was  grenadine,  and  when  Jeanne  looked 
in  the  glass  and  beheld  herself  for  the  first  time 
in  an  evening  gown,  she  was  not  inclined  to  quarrel 
with  the  result. 

In  accordance  with  the  Duke's  advice,  and  after 
consultation  with  Mr.  Valentine,  she  had  induced 
the  servants  to  refrain  from  recovering  the 
pictures,  and  then  and  thereafter  Jeanne  passed 
no  inconsiderable  portion  of  her  endless  leisure 
in  the  saloons,  where  she  became  familiar  with 
the  Dutch  landscapes  so  much  appreciated  by 
her  cousin  Denis,  and  began  to  like  them  a  little, 
after  all. 

"You  must  receive  your  guests  in  the  morning- 
room,  ma'am,  and  after  dinner  it  will  be  some- 


OF  GROSVENOR  SQUARE  211 

thing  to  do  to  go  up  to  the  galleries  and  look  at 
the  pictures,  especially  as  his  Grace  is  so  fond  of 
them ;  and  to  play  the  piano  in  the  music-room, ' ' 
said  Dunham,  anxiously  instructing  the  fright- 
ened hostess.  "  I  'm  sure  nothing  could  look 
nicer  than  you  do,  Miss  Jane.  It  would  please 
Mrs.  Pyke  if  we  asked  her  to  step  up  and  see 
you.  When  my  poor  lady  was  dressed  for  the 
Opera  or  the  Drawing-room,  they  was  all  let  to 
come  and  look  at  her." 

"Oh,  Mrs.  Dunham,  I  shall  never  be  worth 
looking  at  like  poor  Aunt  Caroline  must  have 
been.  Even  in  her  sick-room  she  was  just  like 
a  picture,"  said  Jeanne,  humbly. 

"That  was  nothing  to  what  she  could  look, 
when  she  had  the  family  jewels  on." 

"Are  they  very  beautiful?" 

"  They  're  very  valuable,  'm,  and  it  was  always 
a  load  off  my  mind  when  they  was  safe  at  the 
bank  as  they  are  now.  For  many  's  the  time 
I  Ve  shook  in  my  shoes  thinking  how  easily  we 
might  have  our  throats  cut  in  our  beds  if  evil- 
disposed  persons  knew  what  was  in  the  house. " 

Jeanne  submitted  nervously  to  the  ordeal 
of  being  exhibited  by  Dunham  to  Mrs.  Pyke  and 
the  four  housemaids,  who  walked  round  her  in 
a  solemn  and  awestruck  silence;  not  so  much 
afraid  of  her,  as  of  Mrs.  Pyke  and  Dunham, 
whose  eyes  were  upon  them. 

Pyke,  in  her  thin  tremulous  voice,  expressed 


212  THE  LONELY  LADY 

her  pleasure  and  admiration,  but  the  housemaids 
knew  their  place  too  well  to  speak  at  all.  They 
made  up  for  this  discretion  by  imparting  their 
opinions  afterwards  to  each  other,  with  the  utmost 
freedom. 

"  Nothing  but  a  plain  black  evening  dress, 
hardly  even  cut  low  to  speak  of — an  old-fashioned 
grenadine!"  said  one  disappointed  maiden. 

"The  young  ladies  in  my  last  place  wore  the 
same  every  night  of  their  lives,  and  we  never 
took  any  notice.  But  I  suppose  that  old  Dunham 
thinks  anything  is  a  treat  to  us,"  said  another. 

"Poor  thing,"  said  the  youngest  housemaid. 
"  She  's  pretty,  is  n't  she,  with  her  neck  and  arms 
so  white,  and  her  eyes  and  hair  so  dark. " 

"She  has  a  lovely  colour,"  the  first  housemaid 
agreed,  "but  she's  no  way  with  her,  not  a  bit. 
Just  a  simple  little  thing!  Any  one  could  tell 
she  came  out  of  the  country  and  never  been  no- 
where  nor  seen  nobody. " 

"You  take  care  what  you  say,  Eliza;  for  Mr. 
Hewitt  told  William  it 's  his  belief  she  '11  be  Duch- 
ess of  Monaghan  one  of  these  days." 

"I'm  sure  I  hope  she  will  then,"  said  the 
youngest  housemaid  sympathetically,  "for  she 
always  looks  kind  and  gentle  at  me  as  if  she  'd 
speak  if  she  dared.  But  that  Dunham 's  got 
her  under  her  thumb.  I  would  n't  be  ordered 
about  in  my  own  brother's  house,  if  I  was  in  her 
place;  no,  I  would  n't." 


OF  GROSVENOR  SQUARE  213 

Meanwhile  Jeanne — unconscious  of  the  calm- 
ness with  which  her  person,  and  the  possibilities 
of  her  future,  were  being  discussed  by  the  younger 
inmates  of  the  household — took  her  place  on 
the  hearthrug  of  the  morning-room,  and  anxiously 
awaited  her  expected  guests. 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Hogg- Watson  were  the  first  to 
arrive,  and  she  stepped  forward  with  some  trep- 
idation, to  greet  them. 

Her  alarm  was  not  diminished  by  Cecilia's 
first  communication,  made  with  that  rapidity 
and  secrecy  which  is  peculiar  to  intimate  female 
friendship,  and  quite  unsuspected  by  the  tall 
spectacled  gentleman  following  in  her  wake,  who 
merely  beheld  a  tender  prolonged  embrace  between 
his  wife  and  her  hostess. 

"He  is  in  one  of  his  worst  moods,"  breathed 
Cecilia  in  Jeanne's  ear,  "be  very  careful  what 
you  say." 

Jeanne  shook  hands  with  Mr.  Hogg- Watson, 
after  this  warning,  without  daring  to  lift  her 
eyes  to  his  face;  and  was  relieved  that  he  said 
nothing  worse  than  "How  do  you  do?"  and 
thankful  that  he  immediately  turned  his  atten- 
tion to  the  Romney  portrait  over  the  mantelpiece, 
leaving  his  wife  to  make  as  much  or  as  little 
conversation  as  she  chose. 

"I  declare,  Jeanne,  what  a  delightful  room! 
Crammed  with  hothouse  flowers — you  extra- 
vagant creature!  And  all  this  Louis  Quinze 


2i4  THE  LONELY  LADY 

furniture,  or  is  it  Louis  Seize?  I  never  know  the 
difference.  Isn't  it  charming,  Joseph?" 

Receiving  no  response  but  a  grunt  to  this 
.  incautious  appeal,  she  nodded  and  winked  ex- 
pressively at  Jeanne  behind  the  professor's  stoop- 
ing shoulders,  and  continued  her  cheerful  remarks. 

"  I  do  think  you  are  the  luckiest  person  in  the 
whole  world.  Never  did  any  one's  past  contrast 
so  vividly  with  their  present  as  yours.  When  I 
remember  what  you  were  at  Coed-Ithel  farm 
in  your  early  days — and  look  at  you  now!" 

Jeanne  could  not  help  thinking  that  Cecilia 
presented  quite  as  remarkable  a  contrast  to  what 
she  had  been  in  early  days,  as  she  did  herself. 

Whether  she  recalled  her  as  a  prim  little  girl 
in  a  blue  cotton  pinafore,  with  a  fair  pigtail,— 
feeding  the  Rectory  fowls;  or  as  a  tall  young 
person  in  a  home-made  blue  merino,  and  a  plain 
straw  hat,  leading  the  choir  in  church,  and  walking 
with  her  father  to  visit  school  and  cottages; 
setting  a  demure  example  in  neatness  to  the 
village  girls, — it  seemed  equally  impossible  to 
connect  the  memory  with  the  Mrs.  Hogg- Watson 
of  the  present. 

Cecilia's  golden  hair  was  now  elaborately 
waved,  dressed,  and  perfumed;  and  ornamented 
by  a  large  diamond  star. 

She  wore  the  black  velvet  of  poor  Jeanne's 
dreams;  but,  far  from  thinking  it  necessary  to 
shroud  herself  in  the  old  lace  which  Mrs.  Dunham 


OF  GROSVENOR  SQUARE  215 

had  declared  to  be  an  indispensable  adjunct, 
she  had  boldly  courted  the  contrast  between  the 
severely  cut  tight-fitting  black  velvet  and  the 
snowy  white  of  her  neck  and  shoulders. 

Modest  Jeanne  blushed  when  she  perceived 
so  large  a  proportion  of  Cecilia's  charms  unveiled ; 
and  she  thought  of  the  horror  which  would  over- 
come poor  Mrs.  Davies  could  she  behold  her 
daughter  thus  excessively  decolletee.  But  Cecilia 
mistook  her  friend's  anguished  glance  for  envy,  and 
smiled  inwardly  at  the  contrast  presented  by 
her  own  highly  finished  toilette  to  the  quiet  un- 
ornamented  gown  of  the  little  rustic  Jeanne, 
who  appeared  quite  unable  to  rise  to  the  op- 
portunities afforded  her,  by  her  brother's  fine 
house  and  ample  fortune. 

"  I  have  invited  my  cousin  to  meet  you,  Cecilia, " 
said  Jeanne,  timidly,  "to  make  a  fourth. " 

"  Your  cousin !  What  cousin  ?  I  did  not  know 
you  had  a  cousin!"  said  Cecilia,  with  lively 
curiosity.  "Who  is  he?" 

"  The  Duke  of  Monaghan. " 

"The  Duke  of — !"  Cecilia  opened  her  mouth 
and  was  yet  speechless. 

"He  is  a  very  distant  cousin,  but  he  was  re- 
lated to  poor  Aunt  Caroline — "  said  Jeanne, 
hastily,  "  and  he  has  heard  the  Prof — your  hus — 
Mr.  Hogg- Watson  lecture." 
,  At  the  word  lecture,  the  great  man  turned 
round,  and  brought  his  eyes  slowly  to  the  level 


2i 6  THE  LONELY  LADY 

of  Jeanne's  countenance  as  she  sat,  nervously 
perched  on  the  extreme  edge  of  her  aunt's  low 
chair  by  the  occasional  table. 

"Where  was  that?"  he  said. 

"  I  do  not  think  he  said  where. " 

The  Professor  emitted  another  slight  grunt, 
and  returned  to  the  picture. 

"  Is  n't  he  just  what  I  told  you? "  asked  Cecilia, 
in  mute  pantomine  of  eyes  and  fingers. 

Jeanne  made  a  gesture  signifying  that  it  was 
too  early  for  her  to  offer  an  opinion  of  the  Pro- 
fessor's character.  So  far  she  must  be  content 
to  own  that,  from  his  appearance,  Cecilia  was 
justified  in  having  described  him  as  an  ugly  and 
powerful  man;  of  his  fascinating  qualities  he 
had,  as  yet,  certainly  afforded  her  no  evidence. 

The  entrance  of  the  Duke  relieved  Jeanne  of 
much  embarrassment. 

Cousin  Denis  was  at  once  so  quiet,  so  self- 
possessed  and  so  helpful,  that  she  felt  her  heart 
expand  in  sudden  grateful  recognition  of  his  good 
breeding. 

He  recalled  the  subject  and  the  occasion  of 
the  Professor's  lecture  so  pleasantly,  that  the 
great  man's  brow  cleared;  for  the  compliments 
of  a  Duke,  even  though  he  be  but  a  young  one, 
are  usually  acceptable  to  the  average  Britisher; 
and  Mr.  Hogg- Watson,  his  learning  and  celebrity 
notwithstanding,  was  but  an  average  Britisher 
after  all. 


OF  GROSVENOR  SQUARE  217 

Far  from  being  too  much  shocked  by  the 
scantiness  of  her  bodice  (as  Jeanne  had  almost 
feared  Cousin  Denis  might  be)  to  even  look  at 
Cecilia, — he  offered  her  his  arm  with  an  engaging 
smile,  when  Hewitt  announced  dinner,  the  instant 
he  perceived  that  Jeanne  was  at  a  loss;  and 
remarking  that  in  the  absence  of  his  cousin  Louis 
he  had  been  requested  to  take  his  place,  led  her 
across  the  hall  to  the  great  dining-room,  where 
the  table  laid  for  four  persons  appeared  but 
as  a  small  island  in  the  midst  of  a  wide  sea  of 
parquet  flooring. 

Jeanne  followed  with  the  Professor,  observing 
thankfully  that  his  glance  at  her,  when  he  gave 
her  his  arm,  was  not  an  unkind  one. 

After  all,  she  was  by  no  means  so  certain  of 
his  ugliness. 

A  very  fine  pair  of  intent  grey  eyes  shone  behind 
his  glasses;  a  shock  of  hair  between  grey  and 
flaxen  fell  over  his  broad  forehead;  and  if  his 
nose  were  surprisingly  long  and  beaky,  so  were 
the  noses,  she  reflected,  of  many  great  men; 
whilst  his  massive  uneven  profile,  and  wide 
mouth,  even  though  rather  grim,  were  not  des- 
titute of  humour. 

Long  before  the  end  of  dinner  Jeanne  found 
herself  wondering  why  he  had  married  Cecilia. 

If  Mrs.  Hogg- Watson  had  been  content  to  be 
herself — lively,  talkative,  inconsequent,  and  more 
than  a  little  vulgar, — it  is  possible  she  might  have 


2i 8  THE  LONELY  LADY 

succeeded  in  amusing  the  Duke  of  Monaghan 
very  well.  But  though  this  end  was  the  object 
of  her  constant  endeavour  throughout  the  meal, 
she  unfortunately  missed  attaining  it,  through 
her  assumption  of  a  personality  which  did  not 
belong  to  her. 

Jeanne,  who  did  not  know  that  Cecilia  was 
trying  to  play  the  role  of  a  smart  woman  of  society, 
listened  to  her  affected,  coquettish,  and  sometimes 
risqute  conversation,  with  a  countenance  more 
expressive  of  surprise  and  dismay  than  she  knew. 

She  did  not  recognise  the  type  which  Cecilia  was 
endeavouring,  from  the  most  superficial  observa- 
tion, to  emulate;  and  in  her  simplicity,  was 
heartily  ashamed  of  her  friend. 

Every  now  and  then  the  Professor  broke  in 
upon  his  wife's  statements  with  a  flat  contradic- 
tion ;  but  these  interruptions,  however  they  might 
embarrass  the  Duke  and  his  cousin  Jeanne,  ap- 
peared not  to  ruffle  the  complacency  of  Cecilia 
in  the  slightest  degree. 

"My  husband  is  never  happy  except  when 
he  's  travelling,  Duke.  And  I  am  afraid  I  am 
a  shockingly  old-fashioned  wife,"  said  Cecilia, 
archly,  "for  I  often  go  with  him,  instead  of 
staying  at  home,  where  I  should  have  a  much 
better  time;  now  shouldn't  I?" 

"I  dislike  travelling  more  than  anything  in 
the  world,"  growled  the  Professor,  breaking  off 
his  remarks  to  Jeanne,  and  casting  a  look  of 


OF  GROSVENOR  SQUARE  219 

positive  dislike  across  the  table  at  his  communi- 
cative spouse. 

"Ah;  so  you  say.  But  'facts  is  facts, 'and 
though  we  have  but  just  returned  from  South 
America,  we  are  going  to  spend  the  summer  in 
Berlin." 

"I  am  not  going  to  Berlin,"  stated  Mr.  Hogg- 
Watson  ;  "  or  if  I  do  go,  I  shall  go  alone. " 

"  We  shall  see  about  that  when  the  time  comes, " 
said  Cecilia,  more  coquettishly  than  ever.  Per- 
haps it  was  her  affectation  which  made  her  seem 
less  handsome  in  Jeanne's  eyes  to-night,  than 
she  had  appeared  in  her  own  house. 

"Your  name  is  French.  It  is  historical, 
There  have  been  great  men  of  that  name, "  said  Mr, 
Hogg- Wat  son  to  Jeanne,  abruptly.  "Have  you 
not  relatives  in  France?  Or  is  it  Jersey  that 
you  come  from?" 

"No,  we  have  nothing  to  do  with  Jersey. 
My  ancestors  were  French, "  said  Jeanne,  delighted 
at  his  choice  of  a  subject. 

"You  speak  French  very  well,  I  suppose?" 

"I  can  scarcely  speak  it  at  all.  And  I  have 
never  been  in  France,"  said  Jeanne,  rather 
sorrowfully. 

"I  am  sure,  Jeanne,  you  know  French  almost 
as  well  as  I  do,"  said  Cecilia,  with  encouraging 
patronage.  "Your  little  cousin  and  I  were 
brought  up  together,  you  know, "  she  said,  turning 
to  the  Duke. 


220  THE  LONELY  LADY 

"At  least  you  know  enough  to  be  aware  how 
little  you  know,"  said  the  Professor,  ignoring 
his  wife.  "That  is  a  preliminary  to  learning 
more.  Your  name  is  familiar  to  me,  because  a 
man  of  that  name  was  killed  in  the  Boer  War." 

"Are  you  sure?"  said  Jeanne,  much  excited. 
"My  brother  was  in  the  Boer  War,  but  he  was 
certainly  not  killed.  Not  even  wounded,  I  am 
thankful  to  say.  Surely  Louis  would  have  heard 
of  it." 

"It  is  as  I  say,"  said  the  Professor,  shortly. 

"  Please  tell  me  about  it, "  said  Jeanne,  abashed. 
"We  always  hoped  there  might  possibly  be  de- 
scendants of  Charles  de  Courset,  my  great-uncle 
who  stayed  at  home  when  his  brother  emigrated. 
Louis  hoped  some  day  for  time  and  means  to 
search  them  out.  He  would  be  so  interested 
to  know.  But  how  came  a  Frenchman  to  be 
fighting  for  us?" 

"  He  was  not  fighting  for  us,  but  for  the  Boers. " 

"For  the  Boers!" 

"Early  in  1900,"  said  the  Professor,  "the 
French  volunteer,  General  de  Villebois-Mareuil^ 
in  command  of  the  foreign  legion,  was  killed  at 
Boshof.  You  heard  of  that,  I  presume?" 

"Yes,  yes,"  said  Jeanne,  breathlessly. 

"I  was  present  at  his  funeral.  He  was  a 
brave  man.  He  was  buried  with  military  honours. 
Some  of  his  companions  were  killed,  some  wounded 
and  some  taken  prisoners.  I  helped  to  attend 


OF  GROSVENOR  SQUARE  221 

a  wounded  prisoner,  because  I  happened  to 
speak  French  fluently.  His  name  was  de  Courset. 
This  conveyed  nothing  to  me  at  the  time,  of 
course,  for  I  am  not  aware  that  I  had  ever  heard 
your  name  mentioned. " 

She  thought  he  cast  a  withering  glance  across 
the  table  at  Cecilia,  who  reddened  slightly,  but 
was  obliged  to  be  silent ;  for  the  Duke  had  turned 
towards  Mr.  Hogg- Watson  and  was  listening  with 
obvious  interest  to  his  recital. 

"I  remember,"  said  the  Professor, — he  looked 
only  at  Jeanne's  eyes — "this  poor  fellow  interested 
me  more  than  the  others,  by  his  courage,  hero- 
ism indeed,  in  bearing  the  pain  that  I — "  she 
turned  so  white  that  he  skilfully  changed  the 
ending  of  the  phrase — "  cut  as  short  as  possible 
by  placing  him  under  anaesthetics.  He  was 
devoted  to  his  leader,  in  fact  they  all  were.  I 
saw  a  little  gold  medal  worn  by  poor  de  Villebois- 
Mareuil  inscribed  '  to  a  great  Frenchman  from 
the  companions  of  his  daughter.'  De  Courset 
told  me  that  his  own  daughter  had  been  one  of 
these  companions,  and  the  friend  of  the  poor 
General's  child. " 

"Did  he  die?"  said  Jeanne,  hardly  above  a 
whisper. 

"It  was  impossible  to  save  him,"  said  the 
Professor.  His  gruff  voice  was  quite  kind.  "  He 
was  laid  by  the  side  of  de  Villebois-Mareuil,  as 
he  wished,  at  Boshof. " 


222  THE  LONELY  LADY 

"  I  must  write  and  tell  Louis, "  said  Jeanne. 
"He  will  not  lose  a  moment,  when  he  comes 
home,  in  following  up  such  a  clue.  We  will  never 
rest  till  we  find  our  family.  Did  he  tell  you  where 
his  daughter  lived?  or  give  you  messages  or 
letters  for  her?" 

"He  confided  everything  of  that  kind  to  his 
comrades,  no  doubt,"  said  the  Professor.  "His 
things  were  sent  to  Pretoria  with  the  rest." 

"Thank  you  very,  very  much  for  telling  me 
about  it,  Professor,"  said  Jeanne. 

She  forgot  her  shyness,  and  awe  of  Cecilia's 
husband,  and  spoke  as  earnestly  and  naturally  as 
though  she  had  been  addressing  Louis  himself; 
or  Cousin  Denis,  with  whom  she  was  quite  at 
her  ease. 

Mr.  Hogg- Watson  was  by  no  means  insensible 
to  the  charm  of  simplicity;  he  thawed  completely; 
or  perhaps  the  excellence  of  the  dinner  had 
softened  his  mood. 

"Where  is  this  brother,  may  I  ask?" 

"In  Somaliland. "  Jeanne  could  hardly  for- 
bear a  reproachful  look  towards  her  friend.  Had 
she  not  thought  it  worth  while  to  mention  to  her 
husband  that  Louis  was  now — perhaps  even  at 
this  moment — risking  his  life  in  the  service  of 
his  country? 

The  Professor  looked  grave. 

"  It  is  not  a  nice  place. " 

"He  had  only  just  arrived  when  he  wrote. 


OF  GROSVENOR  SQUARE  223 

He  was  at  Obbia;  and  he  said  it  was  not  nearly 
such  a  bad  climate  as  he  expected.  Quite  the 
contrary,"  said  Jeanne,  anxiously.  "He  is  used 
to  India,  you  know,  and  he  has  been  all  through 
the  South  African  War.  This  will  be  quite  a 
short  expedition,  Louis  thinks." 

"I  hope  you  will  get  him  home  very  soon," 
said  the  Professor,  and  this  time  his  voice  sounded 
more  cheerful. 

All  the  smiles  and  signs  of  Cecilia  failed  to 
explain  to  Jeanne  that  the  moment  had  now 
come  when  a  move  must  be  made,  and  that  it 
was  upon  her  that  the  duty  of  making  it  devolved. 

Hewitt — too  stupid  to  whisper  to  his  young 
lady  the  hint  that  Mrs.  Dunham,  in  his  place, 
would  not  have  scrupled  to  bestow — brought 
in  coffee,  and  they  drank  it;  he  handed  round 
cigarettes  and  cigars — and  still  Jeanne  sat  quietly 
on;  until  the  tact  of  her  watchful  cousin  was 
again  exerted  on  her  behalf. 

"Perhaps,  Cousin  Jeanne,  you  will  give  us 
leave  to  smoke  down  here,  when  you  and  Mrs. 
Hogg- Watson  withdraw  the  light  of  your  pres- 
ence, "  he  said,  smiling  at  her  across  the  table. 

"Oh  yes,  certainly,"  she  cried  in  confusion; 
and  Cecilia,  rising  very  thankfully,  put  her  arm 
through  her  friend's,  and  led  her  playfully  out 
of  the  room;  the  Duke  politely  opening  the  door, 
and  closing  it  behind  them. 

"My  dear!    Did  n't  you  see  me?    I  couldn't 


224  THE  LONELY  LADY 

catch  your  eye.  You  should  have  bowed  to  me 
long  ago.  But,  however,  it  doesn't  matter — '' 
cutting  short  Jeanne's  distressed  apologies  for 
her  unwitting  omission.  "  I  was  dying  to  get 
away  and  talk  to  you.  I  am  simply  pining  to 
know  what  you  think  of  Joseph.  He  was  quite 
gpris  with  you.  But  that  is  his  way.  You 
mustn't  think  anything  of  it.  He  is  always 
taken  with  every  fresh  face  he  meets;  and  then 
people  think  him  charming!  I  only  wish  they 
knew  what  he  was  like  at  home.  I  assure  you 
he  was  like  a  bear  in  the  brougham.  But  I  suppose 
men  are  always  like  that  with  the  women  they 
really  care  for,"  said  Cecilia,  with  a  sharp  glance 
at  Jeanne's  innocent  face. 

"He  seemed  very  kind,"  was  all  poor  Jeanne 
could  reply;  for  Cecilia's  tones  made  her  uncom- 
fortable, though  she  could  not  tell  why. 

"As  for  your  poor,  little,  lame  Duke,"  said 
Mrs.  Hogg- Watson,  condescendingly.  "He  is 
a  nice  little  thing.  I  quite  liked  him,  though 
he  was  rather  heavy  in  hand.  I  remember  all 
about  his  family  now.  One  way  and  another  I 
get  to  hear  most  people's  history.  I  believe  he 
was  mixed  up  in  some  Gaiety  scandal;  but  I 
may  be  confusing  him  with  somebody  else.  Any- 
way, I  know  he  does  n't  get  on  with  his  mother. 
I  believe  she  quite  hates  the  sight  of  him  on 
account  of  his  club  foot. " 

"Oh,  Cecilia,  not  really,"  cried  Jeanne,  without 


OF  GROSVENOR  SQUARE  225 

pausing  to  consider  whether  this  item  were  more 
likely  to  be  accurate  than  the  rest  of  Cecilia's 
intelligence. 

"No  wonder,  when  the  others  are  such  fine 
athletic  men,"  said  Cecilia,  tossing  her  head. 
"  I  saw  one  of  them  play  in  a  cricket  match  once. 
That  is  why  I  enquired  all  about  the  family. 
Lord  Brian  something  was  his  name." 

"But  he  was  not  born  with  a  club  foot,"  said 
Jeanne,  bethinking  herself.  "He  fell  down- 
stairs in  this  very  house,  and  injured  his  spine — 
when  he  was  a  little  boy.  And,  Cecilia,  I  think 
you  must  be  mistaken,  for  nothing  could  be  more 
friendly  than  his  mother's  manner  to  him  when 
I  saw  them  together. " 

"Do  you  know  the  Duchess?"  This  time  the 
jealousy  in  Cecilia's  voice  was  unmistakable. 

"I  can't  say  I  know  her,  but  I  have  been  to 
her  house — to  an  At  Home;  and  she  left  a  card 
here,  but  'she  did  not  ask  to  come  in,"  said 
scrupulous  Jeanne. 

"Well,  then  of  course  you  know  her.  I  wish 
you  would  get  me  an  invitation  to  her  house," 
said  Cecilia.  "Bless  me,  Jeanne,  if  only  I  had 
your  opportunities  I  should  be  at  the  top  of  the 
tree  in  no  time,  and  know  every  one  in  London." 

"  I  thought  you  had  so  many  friends. " 

"I  said — 'of  a  kind,'"  said  Cecilia,  discontent- 
edly. "And  I  have  trouble  enough  to  keep 
even  them  together.  I  wasted  a  guinea  on  that 


226  THE  LONELY  LADY 

announcement  in  the  Morning  Post,  hoping  it 
would  bring  in  a  few  invitations;  and  all  that 
came  of  it  was  a  shoal  of  letters  for  Joseph,  which 
he  won't  let  me  so  much  as  open. " 

She  looked  enviously  round  the  music -room, 
into  which  Jeanne  now  conducted  her. 

"All  these  pictures  must  be  worth  a  mint  of 
money.  You  will  see,  Joseph  will  go  straight  to 
look  at  them  the  instant  he  comes  up  here,  and 
we  shall  get  no  more  fun  out  of  him  at  all.  How- 
ever, there  will  be  the  Duke  for  you  and  me  to 
talk  to.  It  is  a  pity  he  is  so  young.  Do  you 
see  much  of  him,  by  the  bye?"  with  an  elaborate 
carelessness  of  manner  and  that  sharp  side  glance 
of  which  Jeanne  was  becoming  acutely  conscious. 
"Does  he  come  often?" 

"He  has  only  been  twice  before,"  said  Jeanne, 
coldly. 

She  was  vaguely  offended  by  the  meaning  tone 
which  Cecilia  adopted  in  speaking  of  her  kind 
cousin  Denis. 

Oh,  why  had  she  asked  Cecilia  here?  Why 
had  she  ever  sought  her  out  at  all?  Would  it  not 
have  been  wiser,  remembering  her  as  an  odious 
little  girl,  to  have  shunned  her  altogether  as  a 
woman  ? 

"Well,  I  warn  you,  I  shall  monopolise  him 
when  he  comes  up-stairs,  just  as  I  did  at  dinner,  " 
said  Cecilia,  with  an  exasperating  laugh.  "  If 
he  wants  to  talk  to  you,  you  know,  he  can  very 


OF  GROSVENOR  SQUARE  227 

easily  outstay  us.     Joseph   never   stops  up   late 
if  he  can  possibly  help  it.  " 

The  entrance  of  the  Duke  and  Mr.  Hogg- 
Watson  came  as  a  relief;  and  his  wife's  prophecy 
was  fulfilled,  for  the  Professor  was  immediately 
absorbed  in  the  Dutch  landscapes. 

Cousin  Denis  went  straight  to  the  piano,  and 
began  to  play,  unasked. 

He  saw  Jeanne's  troubled  brow,  and  his  music 
presently  charmed  the  shadows  from  her  down- 
cast, pensive  face;  but  he  did  not  ask  her  to  sing 
to-night;  he  played  quietly  on  and  on. 

Nevertheless  he  did  not  outstay  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Hogg- Watson,  but  rose  from  the  piano  at  half -past 
ten,  and  bade  Jeanne  good  night  in  a  very  kind 
and  gentle  tone. 

Mrs.  Hogg- Watson,  on  the  tapestry  settee, 
was  yawning  unrestrainedly.  She  cared  neither 
for  pictures  nor  for  music,  and  thought  it  very  rude 
of  Jeanne  to  attend  more  earnestly  to  her  cousin's 
playing  than  to  her  friend's  whispered  confidences. 

"Of  course  she  is  doing  her  best  to  catch  him; 
but  I  do  not  feel  sure  she  will  succeed,  though 
he  is  evidently  a  dreadful  prig, "  reflected  Cecilia, 
as  she  shook  hands  warmly  with  the  Duke,  and 
begged  him  to  call  upon  her. 

"Thank  you  very  much.  You  are  exceedingly 
kind,"  he  said,  and  Jeanne  learnt  with  surprise 
that  Cousin  Denis  could  be  frigid  as  well  as 
polite  when  he  chose. 


228  THE  LONELY  LADY 

When  they  had  all  gone,  she  sat  alone  in  the 
silent  gallery,  among  the  dead  Marneys  of  Orsett, 
the  sombre  Dutch  pictures,  and  the  modern 
landscapes  which  filled  the  wintry  night  with 
visions  of  summer  skies,  and  woods  and  streams 
and  poppied  fields — and  cried  a  little,  softly,  over 
the  failure  of  her  dinner  party. 

"I  think  I  never,  never  hated  anything  so 
much,"  she  thought,  miserably.  "What  was 
the  good  of  my  pretty  frock,  or  the  beautiful 
dinner  that  kept  Mrs.  Pyke  and  the  cook  awake 
all  night  planning  it;  or  the  trouble  poor  Hewitt 
took  to  arrange  the  daffodils  on  the  table,  or 
kind  cousin  Denis  coming  to  help  me,  or  any- 
thing— when  Cecilia  was  so  horrid.  Oh,  poor 
Aunt  Caroline,  this  just  shows  how  very  unfit  I 
am  to  entertain  anybody  in  your  beautiful  house. 
But  it  will  all  be  quite  different — when  Louis 
comes  home. " 


CHAPTER  XIV 
THE  DUKE 

UNTIL  he  was  nineteen  or  twenty  years  old 
the  Duke  of  Monaghan  had  lived  the  life  of  a 
recluse ;  less  perhaps  because  his  health  had  latterly 
required  such  complete  seclusion,  than  because 
it  was  difficult  to  shake  off  the  compulsory  habits 
of  invalidism  formed  during  the  earlier  years 
of  his  boyhood. 

The  dukedom  had  descended  upon  his  father 
almost  as  unexpectedly  as  the  fortune  of  Miss 
Mamey  upon  Louis  de  Courset.  The  distant 
cousin  whom  the  late  Duke  had  succeeded, — 
having  a  large  family  of  daughters  for  whom 
he  was  naturally  desirous  to  make  every  pro- 
vision in  his  power, — left  as  little  as  he  could  help 
to  his  heir-at-law;  and  consequently  Denis  was 
in  proportion  to  his  rank,  a  poor  man. 

It  had  therefore  been  impressed  upon  him 
from  his  earliest  youth  by  his  mother,  that  if  he 
married  at  all,  he  must  marry  money. 

The  Duke  had  smiled  a  melancholy  smile  at 
the  very  notion  of  marriage;  but  he  was  fully 

229 


23o  THE  LONELY  LADY 

alive,  nevertheless,  to  the  embarrassment  of  his 
poverty ;  with  a  number  of  people  dependent  upon 
him;  a  large  landed  estate  which  brought  in 
next  to  no  profit,  and  a  magnificent  castle  tum- 
bling into  ruins  for  want  of  the  necessary  repairs. 

The  Duchess  had  been  a  West-Country  heiress, 
and  had  a  large  fortune  of  her  own;  but  she 
spent  her  income  royally;  and  as  the  capital 
was  tied  up  on  her  second  son,  Dermot,  it  would 
not  benefit  the  Duke,  nor  his  impoverished  Irish 
estate. 

She  rented  a  house  in  Park  Lane,  spent  the 
autumn  in  Scotland,  the  winter  in  her  home  on 
the  borders  of  Devon  and  Somerset,  and  the  spring 
in  the  south  of  France. 

But  she  never  went  to  Ireland  if  she  could  help 
it;  and  when  her  son  visited  Cuilmore,  he  was 
obliged  to  visit  it  alone. 

It  was  with  extreme  reluctance,  and  at  the 
insistance  of  his  guardians,  that  the  Duchess 
permitted  her  invalid  son,  over  whom  she  had 
maintained  complete  control  for  twenty  years,  to 
quit  her  maternal  care  and  to  go  to  Oxford;  but 
perhaps  she  had,  as  his  guardians  believed,  over- 
doctored  the  Duke,  oppressed  his  spirits  and 
retarded  his  recovery  by  her  constant  and  arbi- 
trary supervision,  for  the  remarkable  improve- 
ment which  took  place  in  his  health  undoubtedly 
dated  from  the  beginning  of  his  college  career. 

His  melancholy  lessened;  he  began  to  find  it 


OF  GROSVENOR  SQUARE  231 

possible  to  be  interested  even  in  the  sports  he 
could  never  hope  to  join;  his  natural  abilities, 
which  were  considerable,  were  called  into  play; 
he  perceived  that  it  was  open  to  him  to  distinguish 
himself  if  he  would  among  his  fellows,  in  spite  of 
his  lameness. 

He  had  been  educated,  of  course,  entirely  at 
home;  but  his  tutor  had  been  a  wise  and  learned 
German ;  a  master  of  languages  and  a  fine  musician. 
He  had  directed  and  formed  the  boy's  taste  for 
reading,  encouraged  his  love  of  music,  and  laid 
the  foundations  upon  which  Denis  presently  based 
the  structure  of  a  very  creditable  University 
career. 

Shaking  the  yoke  of  his  mother's  authority 
off  his  long-suffering  shoulders,  the  Duke  spent 
his  vacations  abroad;  at  first  with  his  old  tutor 
in  anxious  attendance;  but  later,  with  younger 
and  more  cheerful  companions. 

He  found  himself,  to  his  astonishment,  able  to 
live  much  as  they  lived,  though  his  lameness 
naturally  precluded  him  from  sharing  their  more 
active  exercises. 

But  he  studied  music  with  enthusiasm,  and 
became  familiar  with  the  art  galleries  of  Europe. 

When  he  left  Oxford,  he  proceeded  to  visit 
his  neglected  estates  in  Ireland;  but  here  dis- 
appointment and  disillusion  awaited  him. 

Nothing  could  be  done  without  money,  and  of 
money  he  had  none,  or  next  to  none. 


232  THE  LONELY  LADY 

As  soon  as  the  accumulations  of  his  minority 
were  at  his  disposal, — which  was  not,  according 
to  his  father's  will,  until  he  was  five  and  twenty, 
— he  did  what  he  could,  which  was  something, 
and  dreamed  of  doing  more.  The  careless  luxury 
of  the  expenditure  in  Park  Lane  angered  him 
when  he  thought  of  the  silent,  deserted,  and 
almost  ruined  halls  of  his  predecessors. 

Concerning  his  feelings  for  his  mother,  Denis 
dwelt  upon  them  as  little  as  possible.  He  was 
not  in  sympathy  with  her,  and  she  resented  what 
she  believed  to  be  his  ingratitude.  Probably  it 
was  rather  his  independence  that  she  resented. 
Having  grown  accustomed  to  settle  everything 
for  her  eldest  son,  to  have  him  always  under  her 
own  eye,  and  to  consider  him  as  helpless  as  an 
infant,  she  did  not  relish  his  sudden  emancipa- 
tion, and  found  his  restoration  to  health  irksome 
in  fact,  though  in  theory  she  was  obliged  to 
rejoice. 

Nevertheless  she  respected  Denis;  she  knew 
him  to  be  steady  and  high-principled,  as  his 
brothers  were  wild,  careless,  and  extravagant; 
and  she  wished  him  to  marry,  with  all  her  heart. 

She  was  becoming  indeed  somewhat  feverishly 
anxious  upon  the  subject,  and  unlike  the  gen- 
erality of  mothers,  was  prepared  to  welcome  almost 
any  young  woman  whom  her  son  might  select, 
provided  only  that  she  had  a  fair  fortune. 

On  this  point  the  Duchess  was  firm. 


OF  GROSVENOR  SQUARE  233 

Though  her  own  parentage  was  unexception- 
able, (or  perhaps  because  of  this  fact),  she  was 
not  painfully  exclusive  in  principle. 

She  was  not  of  those  who  are  the  bane  of 
the  newly  rich,  and  the  successfully  married, 
unimpressed  by  present  appearances,  searching 
for  humble  pasts  preferably  ignored,  and  crying 
always.  But  who  was  she? 

On  the  contrary  the  only  question  that  vexed 
her  economic  soul  was,  How  much? 

"Let  her  be  respectable  and  not  smart;  let  her 
but  have  a  dot  sufficient  to  set  them  up  in  comfort, 
and  I  care  nothing  who  she  may  be,"  thought 
the  Duchess. 

But  it  was  her  despair  that  the  Duke  did  not 
seem  inclined  to  marry  at  all. 

She  had  never  been  of  a  demonstrative  nature, 
and  the  petting  and  coaxing  which  had  been 
bestowed  upon  the  crippled  boy  had  come  from 
his  attendants  and  not  from  his  mother,  whom 
he  had  rather  feared  than  loved. 

His  affection  had  been  for  his  father,  who, 
passionately  regretful  of  the  misfortune  which 
had  befallen  his  heir,  had  lavished  upon  him  every 
indulgence  in  his  power.  The  Duke's  death  had 
crushed  the  spirits  of  the  little  invalid,  and 
made  him  grave  and  melancholy  beyond  his 
years. 

But  in  proportion  to  the  deprivations  of  his 
boyhood,  did  the  young  man  now  enjoy  the 


234  THE  LONELY  LADY 

existence  which  to  his  brothers  appeared  so 
devoid  of  amusement  and  excitement. 

It  was  not  considered  prudent  that  he  should 
hunt,  but  he  rode  in  moderation,  and  walked 
as  much  as  his  lameness  permitted,  and  the  exer- 
cise increased  his  strength;  he  lost  the  air  of 
almost  ethereal  delicacy  which  constant  con- 
finement had  bestowed,  and  though  he  must 
always  be  delicate,  looked  and  was,  perfectly 
healthy  and  well. 

His  brothers  loved  him  sincerely,  but  pitied 
him  more;  for  a  man  who  could  neither  hunt, 
play  cricket,  nor  go  deer-stalking  must  be  always, 
in  their  opinion,  an  object  of  pity. 

From  the  sports  and  games  that  were,  at  this 
period  of  their  lives,  the  salt  of  their  existence, 
he  was  for  ever  debarred,  and  though  they  were 
accustomed  to  his  exclusion  from  their  favourite 
pursuits;  they  were  sorry  for  him  whenever  they 
remembered  it. 

They  were  rough,  good-hearted  young  fellows, 
with  a  strain  of  their  mother's  overbearing  dis- 
position in  their  natures  which  may  have  accounted 
for  their  quarrels  with  their  surviving  parent, 
and  with  each  other.  But  with  Denis  they 
never  quarrelled,  partly  because  of  his  own 
gentleness,  and  partly  because  in  their  frequent 
scrapes  he  always  shielded  and  sympathised  with 
them.  Since  for  so  many  years  his  spirit  had 
chafed  under  the  knowledge  of  his  own  utter 


OF  GROSVENOR  SQUARE  235 

helplessness  and  dependence,  it  afforded  him, 
indeed,  especial  satisfaction  to  be  of  use  to  them, 
and  to  others;  and  he  assumed  his  position  as 
head  of  the  house  with  an  almost  pathetically 
earnest  determination  to  do  his  duty  therein. 

Thus  rejoicing  in  his  newly-acquired  freedom, 
he  was  divided  between  amusement  and  disgust, 
when  his  mother,  with  tears  in  her  eyes,  recom- 
mended to  him  one  nice,  kind,  motherly,  young 
creature  (with  money)  after  another,  as  exactly 
formed  to  take  care  of  him,  and  watch  over  his 
valuable  health. 

It  was  the  helplessness,  the  timidity,  the 
childishness  of  little  Jeanne,  that  had  touched  him, 
during  the  ridiculous  episode  of  her  unauthorised 
call  upon  one  of  the  most  conventional  women 
in  London. 

The  young  man's  heart  still  leapt  to  recall  the 
look  she  had  cast  upon  him — the  appeal  for  help 
in  her  beautiful  frightened  brown  eyes — the  glad 
relief  and  gratitude  of  the  little  dimpling  face, 
when  he  had  cast  his  shyness  to  the  winds,  and 
come  to  her  assistance — the  flush  of  joy  when 
he  boldly  claimed  kinship,  and  the  right  to  show, 
in  some  measure,  the  sympathy  and  interest  with 
which  his  heart  was  filled  at  the  mere  touch  of 
the  magic  wand  of  first  love. 

For  though  he  was  five  and  twenty  years  old, 
and  had  loved  innumerable  heroines  of  history 
and  fiction  and  imagination,  and  even  a  few 


236  THE  LONELY  LADY 

never-to-be-forgotten  but  personally  nearly  un- 
known goddesses  in  real  life;  yet  Denis  knew, 
almost  the  instant  that  he  set  eyes  upon  Jeanne, 
that  here  was  his  first  and  last  and  only  love. 

Having  looked  upon  himself,  pensively,  for 
some  years  past,  as  one  wedded  to  his  art  alone, 
he  was  the  more  taken  aback  by  the  strength  and 
suddenness  of  his  passion ;  and  inclined  to  ridicule 
himself  for  the  discovery  that  the  conditions  of 
a  man's  life — even  though  he  may  have  spent  an 
invalid  boyhood — are  not  necessarily  fixed  and 
unchangeable  at  the  age  of  twenty-five;  but 
every  day  his  love  took  a  stronger  hold  of  him. 
in  defiance  of  ridicule  or  bewilderment. 

He  thought  of  his  brothers,  who  had  been  in 
and  out  of  half-a-dozen  love  affairs  already,  quite 
unknown  to  the  Duchess,  and  who  remained 
apparently  perfectly  cheerful  and  heart-whole 
in  spite  of  these  experiences. 

He  thought  of  his  poverty, — of  his  mother's 
certain  indignation,  (for,  though  her  brother 
might  be  rich,  Jeanne  herself,  so  far  as  he  knew, 
had  not  a  penny  in  the  world) — of  the  absolute 
necessity  of  his  marrying  money  if  he  married 
at  all — of  the  wisdom  of  remaining  as  he  was, 
and  allowing  his  wealthy  brother  Dermot  to 
succeed  him;  and  the  upshot  of  all  his  reflections 
was,  after  nearly  a  week's  indecision — that  he 
determined  to  remain  in  London  for  the  present 
instead  of  returning  to  Ireland,  and  to  call  at 


OF  GROSVENOR  SQUARE  237 

99  Grosvenor  Square  again,  upon  the  very  first 
opportunity  that  should  present  itself. 

During  this  week,  time,  hung  less  heavily  than 
usual  upon  Jeanne's  hands;  for  she  had  found 
an  occupation. 

She  worked  at  her  French  for  a  couple  of  hours 
every  morning  under  the  guidance  of  the  old 
professor  sent  to  her  by  the  Duke  of  Monaghan, 
and  in  the  afternoon  prepared  diligently  long 
exercises  for  his  inspection  on  the  morrow. 

So  delighted  was  she  with  her  own  progress 
that  she  even  began  to  indulge  in  dreams  of  a 
translation  of  Cyrano  de  Bergerac,  as  a  tri- 
umphant surprise  wherewith  to  greet  her  brother 
on  his  return;  but  at  present  she  contented 
herself  with  choosing  his  favourite  work  for  the 
daily  reading  which  was  to  improve  her  accent 
and  extend  her  acquaintance  with  the  language. 

At  the  end  of  the  week,  Cecilia  appeared;  very 
smartly  dressed  in  scarlet  cloth  and  white  fox, 
a  combination  eminently  becoming  to  her  fair 
skin  and  golden  hair,  though  qualified  to  render 
the  stoutness  of  her  figure  yet  more  conspicuous. 

"Well,  you  dear  thing,  you  have  never  asked 
me  to  drive,  as  you  promised,  so  I  have  come  to 
look  you  up.  What  do  you  think?  Joseph  has 
been  telegraphed  for  to  Berlin,  and  has  gone  off 
at  a  moment's  notice.  I  cannot  make  up  my 
mind  whether  to  follow  him  or  not. " 


238  THE  LONELY  LADY 

" Has  he  gone  for  a  long  time?" 

"That  is  just  it.  That  is  my  dilemma.  He 
was  in  one  of  his  moods  when  he  went  away  and 
would  not  give  me  an  idea  how  long  he  was 
likely  to  be.  If  I  pack  up  and  follow  him,  he  may 
be  starting  home  just  as  I  arrive;  and  I  should 
have  the  journey  for  nothing;  he  played  that 
trick  on  me  once  before ;  and  if  I  put  off  going, 
why,  he  may  stay  on  and  on,  and  I  be  missing 
all  sorts  of  functions  to  which  they  would  be 
obligated  to  invite  me  if  I  were  with  him.  What 
would  you  advise?" 

"I  should  do  what  he  wished,  of  course,"  said 
Jeanne,  bluntly. 

"  It  is  all  very  well  for  you  to  say  that,  but  a 
married  woman  knows  very  well  that  it  does  a 
man  no  good  to  spoil  him ;  he  would  not  thank  her 
if  she  did,"  said  Cecilia  peevishly.  "Wait  till 
you  have  a  husband  of  your  own,  my  dear.  A 
propos,  have  you  seen  anything  of  our  little 
friend,  the  Duke?" 

Jeanne  coloured  rather  angrily  at  the  tone 
in  which  Cecilia  pronounced  these  words;  but  a 
certain  embarrassment  made  her  glad  to  be  able 
to  answer  she  had  not  seen  her  cousin  since  the 
night  of  the  little  dinner. 

"Do  you  mean  to  say  that  after  dining  here, 
he  has  not  called!"  said  Cecilia  with  exaggerated 
surprise.  "  How  very  rude. " 

"  I  do  not  see  that  it  is  rude. " 


OF  GROSVENOR  SQUARE  239 

"My  dear!  you  own  yourself  that  you  are 
quite  unacquainted  with  les  convenances,"  said 
Cecilia,  with  dignity.  "  It  is  usual  to  leave 
cards,  at  least,  after  dining.  " 

"  But  you  and  the  Professor  have  not  left  cards, " 
cried  Jeanne. 

Cecilia   recollected   herself  in   some   confusion. 

"That  is  quite  different.  I  have  known  you 
all  your  life.  One  does  not  stand  on  ceremony 
with  old  friends,  you  know. " 

"Perhaps  relations  do  not  stand  on  ceremony 
either. " 

"My  dear!  He  is  the  most  distant  cousin  in 
the  world.  I  have  been  looking  him  up;  and  it 
was  three  generations  ago  that  one  of  them 
married  a  Marney  of  Orsett." 

"I  had  not  meant  to  boast  of  it,"  said  Jeanne, 
colouring.  "  I  know  it  is  very  distant. " 

"Oh,  you  need  not  apologise,"  said  Cecilia, 
more  good-naturedly.  "If  I  were  related  to  a 
Duke,  however  distantly,  I  should  take  just  as 
much  care  it  was  known  as  you  do  yourself.  And 
you  have  more  reason  to  care  about  it  than  I — 
having  relations  at  what  one  might  call  the  other 
end  of  the  social  scale."  In  this  delicate  manner 
Cecilia  strove  to  remind  Jeanne  of  the  existence 
of  her  uncle  Roberts  the  farmer.  "  Yes,  I  looked 
the  Duke  up,  and  I  was  surprised  to  find  how 
old  he  was.  He  is  six  and  twenty.  I  took  him 
for  the  merest  boy.  I  suppose  we  fair-haired 


240  THE  LONELY  LADY 

folk  have  a  knack  of  looking  younger  than  we 
really  are." 

Jeanne  endeavoured  to  turn  the  conversation 
by  admiring  Cecilia's  dress,  which  indeed  was 
of  a  very  striking  and  elegant  cut. 

"It  is  not  a  bad  little  frock,"  said  Mrs.  Hogg- 
Watson,  as  carelessly  as  though  she  had  been  all 
her  life  accustomed  to  wearing  two  thousand- 
franc  gowns  from  the  Maison  Doucet,  "one 
must  be  tidy  for  London,  you  know.  Otherwise 
I  never  worry  about  my  clothes,  though  I  am 
so  particular  about  the  children's. " 

"  I  hope  the  children  are  well?" 

"  Oh,  they  are  always  well — or  if  they  are  not, 
they  have  the  best  of  nurses  to  look  after  them. 
What  have  you  here?  Exercises!  Books!  You 
sly  thing ;  you  are  studying  to  fit  yourself  for  any- 
thing that  may  turn  up!  Well,  this  is  foresight 
indeed!" 

"  I  am  improving  my  French,  to  please  Louis. " 

"To  please  Louis  indeed!  Seriously  Jeanne, 
you  might  be  a  little  more  open  with  such  an  old 
friend;  but  however,  I  will  not  press  you.  I  am 
the  last  person  to  force  a  confidence.  Only  I 
know  the  world  better  than  you  do,  perhaps  I 
ought  to  utter  a  word  of  warning.  His  brother, 
Lord  Dermot  Liscarney,  has  the  reputation  of 
being  a  dreadful  flirt,  and  I  have  no  doubt  this 
young  man  is  just  the  same.  Don't  make  too 
sure.  Even  though  of  course  your  position  is 


OF  GROSVENOR  SQUARE  241 

very  different  from  what  it  used  to  be,  (for  I 
suppose  Louis  could  hardly  refuse  to  make  some 
kind  of  a  settlement  upon  you,  so  devoted  as  you 
have  always  been),  still — a  Duke  is  a  Duke,  and 
not  very  likely  to  marry  out  of  his  own  sphere. " 

After  an  ineffectual  effort  to  persuade  her 
friend  to  accompany  her  on  a  shopping  expedition, 
Mrs.  Hogg-Watson  at  length  took  her  leave, 
without  waiting  for  tea;  and  Jeanne  felt,  as  the 
door  closed  behind  her,  that  there  were,  after  all, 
worse  things  than  solitude  in  this  world. 

She  had  scarcely  recovered  her  equanimity 
when  the  Duke  walked  into  the  room. 

An  hour  ago  she  would  have  welcomed  him 
with  unaffected  joy;  but  now  her  greeting  was  so 
constrained  that  he  could  not  but  observe  the 
alteration  in  her  manner. 

"Something  has  been  vexing  you,  Cousin 
>  Jeanne,"  he  said,  in  his  peculiarly  gentle  tones. 
"May  I  know  what  it  is?  You  have  no  bad 
news,  I  hope?" 

Jeanne  shook  her  head. 

"  No,  I  have  no  news  at  all.  In  my  last  letter 
he  had  just  left  Obbia ;  so  he  must  now,  as  he  said, 
be  marching  towards  me."  She  hesitated  a 
moment,  and  then  said,  "Cecilia  has  just  been 
here." 

"Oh!"  said  the  Duke,  so  expressively  that 
Jeanne  smiled,  feeling  more  at  ease. 

"You  do  not  like  her?" 

16 


242  THE  LONELY  LADY 

"I  can  believe  that  a  prolonged  tete  h  tdte 
with  her  might  be — rather  trying,"  said  the 
Duke,  who  was  too  polite  to  own  that  he  disliked 
any  one,  far  less  a  lady  whom  he  had  met  under 
Jeanne's  own  auspices. 

"She  says  such  things" — faltered  Jeanne,  petu- 
lantly. 

"Then  do  not  let  your  mind  dwell  on  the 
things  she  says,"  he  said,  rather  hurriedly. 
"Some  people  say  impossible  things.  It  is  a 
kind  of  habit,  and  the  only  way  to  avoid  being 
ruffled  is  to  think  of  something  else.  How  do 
you  like  my  old  professor?" 

"He  is  the  kindest  old  man  in  the  world," 
she  said,  and  Denis  smiled  to  see  how  easily  her 
thoughts  were  diverted  from  her  vexation.  "  And 
do  you  know  he  has  promised  to  write  to  a  friend 
of  his,  who  used  to  live  in  Paris — (but  he  is  not 
quite  sure  if  he  is  still  alive) — and  make  enquiries 
for  me  about  the  poor  de  Courset  who  was  killed 
in  the  South  African  War?" 

"But  it  does  not  sound  very  hopeful,"  said 
the  Duke,  unable  to  help  smiling  again.  "  I  know 
his  ways,  poor  fellow;  he  would  be  quite  satisfied 
to  wait  a  year  or  two  for  an  answer  from  the 
possibly  deceased  friend!  There  are  quicker 
methods  of  research  than  his.  If  you  would 
care  to  employ  them  I  will  help  you  writh  all  my 
heart. " 

"Oh,  thank  you,  Cousin  Denis.     I  do  long  to 


OF  GROSVENOR  SQUARE  243 

find  out.  Would  not  it  be  delightful  if  Louis  and 
I  discovered  some  near  relations  of  our  own?  I 
have  always  wished  to  belong  to  a  family  and  it 
would  make  our  French  descent  seem  so  much 
more  real.  Louis  used  to  plan  that  directly  he 
could  afford  it,  he  and  I  were  going  to  France,  to 
look  for  the  Chateau  de  Courset,  and  to  try  and 
find  our  relatives." 

"Then  might  he  not  be  a  little  disappointed 
to  find  we  had  forestalled  him?  Since  he  is 
coming  home  so  soon?" 

"I  never  thought  of  that,"  said  Jeanne.  "To 
be  sure  he  would.  For  Louis  likes  to  do  things 
himself.  And  we  could  start  off  together  if  I 
waited  till  he  came  home. " 

"Then  perhaps  it  would  be  wiser  to  leave  the 
enquiries  in  the  Professor's  hands  for  the  present 
where  I  believe  they  will  be  quite  safe,  and  per- 
fectly stationary." 

"I  think  it  would,"  she  was  obliged  to  own, 
"and  at  least,  if  I  go  on  with  my  French,  I  shall 
be  able  to  talk  to  my  family  when  I  do  find  them, 
which  I  certainly  could  not  do  at  present!  You 
do  not  despise  us  for  having  French  blood,  do 
you?" 

"I  have  no  insular  prejudices,  I  hope,"  said 
the  Duke,  laughing. 

"I  cannot  understand  any  one's  not  being 
proud  of  the  people  who  belong  to  them,"  said 
Jeanne.  "Of  course  it  is — more  romantic — 


244  THE  LONELY  LADY 

if  they  are  also — a  noble  race, "  she  said  flushing 
proudly.  "Is  it  snobbish  to  say  so?" 

"No,  indeed,"  he  said  simply,  "it  is  to  me 
quite  absurd  to  confound  snobbishness  with  pride 
of  race.  To  be  glad  you  are  born  of  men  and 
women  who  have  for  generations  been  distin- 
guished for  gallantry,  cultivation,  fine  persons, 
or  that  gentillesse  which  is  the  only  true  gentility 
— is  mere  common-sense.  You  could  no  more 
despise  such  a  pedigree  than  a  racing  man  despises 
the  pedigree  of  a  horse.  Snobbishness,  to  my 
mind,  consists  in  bearing  oneself  with  more  con- 
sideration towards  one  class  of  person  than 
towards  another;  whereas  the  well-bred  man 
would  be  equally  courteous  and  well-behaved 
to  all." 

She  listened  very  earnestly. 

"Yes.  Do  you  know,  Cousin  Denis,  you 
talk  a  little  like  Louis,  only  more — more  de- 
liberately. Louis  hurries  out  his  words  like  a 
torrent.  But  your  ideas  are  very  like  his. " 

"I  do  not  profess  to  have  originated  them. 
They  were  the  merest  platitudes,"  he  said,  with 
that  look  of  affectionate  raillery  she  had  learnt 
to  associate  with  his  gentle,  semi-ironical  tones. 

"  But  it  makes  it  plain, "  said  Jeanne,  proudly, 
"that  the  truly  noble  man  could  not  be  ashamed 
of  the  people  who  belonged  to  him,  because  they 
were" — with  a  sudden  reminiscence  of  Cecilia — 
"at  the  other  end  of  the  social  scale.  In  a  way 


OF  GROSVENOR  SQUARE  245 

I  am  as  proud  of  Uncle  Roberts — because  he  is 
so  absolutely  upright  and  independent,  and  be- 
cause I  know  he  would  not  do  a  wrong  thing 
knowingly,  or  stoop  to  flatter  anybody  to  save 
his  life — as  I  am  of  any  of  my  brave  French 
ancestors,  though  he  is  a  rough  and  homely  man. " 

"So  you  should  be,"  he  said,  with  instant 
and  warm  approval. 

"Oh,  Cousin  Denis,  I  remember  a  little  girl  who 
went  to  school  with  me  in  the  village  at  Pen-y- 
waun;  she  was  very  clever,  and  won  scholarships 
and  became  a  teacher,  and  we  heard  that  she 
passed  her  own  father,  who  was  a  labourer,  in  the 
streets  of  Tref-goch  and  would  not  recognise  him. 
She  was  ashamed  of  him!  I  cried  when  I  heard 
it,  but  I  was  younger  then  and  cried  very  easily, 
I  suppose.  It  seemed  so  dreadful." 

"Yes,  it  was  dreadful;  and  still  more  dreadful 
to  think  of  that  girl  being  a  teacher;  simply 
because  she  had  passed  a  certain  examination, 
and  at  an  age  when  the  realities  of  life  are  mere 
words,  and  experience  and  wisdom  almost  nil, —  " 
said  Denis,  rather  sadly,  "  I  have  wondered  some- 
times why  poor  ladies  do  not  turn  their  attention 
to  village  schools.  It  would  surely  be  a  happier 
life  than  governessing,  or  companioning  cross 
old  women,  and  living  in  other  people's  houses. " 

"  The  schoolmistress  at  Pen-y-waun  gets  eighty 
pounds  a  year,  "'said  Jeanne,  "she  could  rent 
a  cottage  and  garden  for  four  or  five  pounds  i 


246  THE  LONELY  LADY 

and  would  have  the  dearest  little  home  in  the 
prettiest  country  in  the  world. " 

"I  suppose  she  could  live  on  that,"  said  the 
Duke,  who  was  not  a  practical  housekeeper. 

Jeanne,  who  was,  opened  her  eyes  in  astonish- 
ment. 

"  If  she  could  n't  live  on  thirty  shillings  a  week, 
and  put  by — "  she  said,  indignantly,  "she  would 
be  a  very  helpless  creature,  Cousin  Denis,  don't 
you  think?" 

"I  am  rather  ignorant  of  such  details,"  he 
confessed,  "but  only  too  eager  to  learn.  And 
I  was  thinking  principally  of  the  children.  They 
are  so  easily  influenced  at  that  age,  and  would 
learn  so  quickly  to  distinguish  between  being 
genteel  and  gentle;  and  thus  discover  the  piteous 
vulgarity  of  pretence,  which  is  the  terrible  stum- 
bling-block in  this  country." 

"The  only  thing  is,  "  said  Jeanne,  thoughtfully, 
"whether  a  lady  would  not  be  too  finicking  to 
care  to  do  for  herself?" 

He  fathomed  her  meaning  with  an  effort. 

"  If  she  were  fine, "  he  said,  rather  disdainfully, 
"she  would  not  belong  to  the  class  from  which 
I  would  have  her  taken.  Fineness  is  the  charac- 
teristic of  the  middle  classes.  The  upper  and 
lower  are,  naturally,  destitute  of  it,  and  that  is 
is  why  they  usually  sympathise  when  they  meet. " 

"Yes,  I  see  what  you  mean — a  queen  can  sit 
and  talk  to  an  old  peasant  woman  quite  simply, 


OF  GROSVENOR  SQUARE  247 

and  without  affectation — but  that  is  because 
each  knows  her  place  in  the  world,  and  has  no 
occasion  for  pretence,  whereas — " 

"The  burgomaster's  wife  would  make  the 
peasant — and  the  Queen,  feel  very  uncomfort- 
able,"  he  said,  laughing. 

"  I  do  not  know  what  a  burgomaster's  wife  is!" 

"Well— the  mayor's  lady." 

"The  butcher's  wife  at  Tref-goch  is  the  worst, " 
said  Jeanne,  gravely.  She  had  a  door  knocked 
out  in  the  back  wall,  because  she  would  not  be 
seen  coming  out  of  her  own  shop." 

They  had  tea  together  in  the  twilight,  for  the 
days  were  now  beginning  to  lengthen;  and  after 
tea,  the  Duke  played  to  Jeanne;  and  she  sat  by 
the  fire,  and  dreamt  of  Louis,  and  of  the  changes 
that  his  return  must  ensure. 

Would  not  he  leave  the  army  now  that  he 
was  so  rich?  He  must  surely  have  done  his 
share  of  soldiering.  But  she  had  not  dared  to 
suggest  this  course  to  him  in  her  letters. 

Perhaps  he  would  buy  back,  if  it  were  possible, 
the  old  French  property  in  the  Boulonnais,  as 
they  had  talked  of  doing,  long  ago,  in  their  childish 
plans  together. 

Perhaps — for  Mr.  Valentine  had  hinted  that  this, 
too,  lay  within  the  power  of  the  great  fortune  Miss 
Marneyhad  bequeathed  to  Louis — he  would  rebuild 
Orsett,  and  settle  down  in  the  West  Country. 


248  THE  LONELY  LADY 

Would  he  be  very  much  altered?  His  letters 
did  not  seem  to  suggest  it,  though  she  was  con- 
scious of  more  reserve  in  them  than  formerly. 
He  spoke  less  of  himself  and  his  wishes  and  his 
plans  for  the  future,  and  more  of  his  work. 

She  thought  and  thought  of  Louis, — but  of 
her  cousin  Denis,  playing  softly  in  the  firelight, 
on  poor  Miss  Marney's  new  piano,  beneath  her 
old  gilt  harp — she  scarcely  thought  at  all. 

His  perfect  self-possession  and  friendliness 
had  banished  altogether  the  embarrassment  which 
Cecilia's  insinuations  had  provoked. 

She  rested  contentedly  in  his  presence,  and 
enjoyed  his  companionship,  with  all  the  gratitude 
that  the  remembrance  of  her  loneliness  before 
his  advent,  could  inspire. 

He  longed,  yet  feared,  to  disturb  this  happy 
unconsciousness. 

"It  is  too  soon,"  thought  the  Duke;  but  he 
too,  was  dreaming  of  happiness  to  come,  as  he 
played  on  and  on,  in  the  warm,  spring-scented 
room;  and  watched  the  pointed  shadows  cast 
by  her  downcast  black  lashes  upon  Jeanne's 
face,  which  glowed  in  the  clear  red  light  of  the 
dying  fire. 


CHAPTER  XV 
THE  BUSH  DESERT 

"  But  my  heart  will  still  be  with  you 
Wherever  you  may  go, 
Can  you  look  me  in  the  face 
And  say  the  same,  Jeannot?" 

"  Rakhan.  .  .  .  marched  twenty-eight  miles  on 
Tuesday  and  forty -two  on  Wednesday,  horses 
twenty-four  hours  without  water.  .  .  wrote 
Louis  in  a  letter  which  Jeanne  received  at  the 
end  of  March,  and  which  had  been  scribbled  in 
blue  pencil  on  pages  of  his  pocket-book  torn 
out,  and  enclosed  in  a  'soldier's  and  seaman's' 
envelope. 

" .  .  .  .  We  got  off  the  track  once,  and  were 
faced  pretty  suddenly  with  the  real  meaning  of  water- 
less desert;  when  a  few  hours  may  put  an  end  to 
a  whole  party,  big  or  small.  .  .  .  pretty  well  cooked 
when  we  arrived,  but  somebody  luckily  had  a  flask 
of  brandy  which  was  mixed  with  some  stinking 
water  and  devoured,  and  we  slept  as  we  could  in  a 
hastily  constructed  zareba.  .  .  This  is  a  burning 
rocky  bush  desert.  .  .  .  when  we  are  all  collected 
I  expect  some  of  us  will  be  sent  to  Berber  a;  about  a 

249 


2  5o  THE  LONELY  LADY 

hundred  and  twenty  miles  through  dense  bush,  and 
it  is  believed  no  water.  But  think  of  me  slowly, 
slowly  trekking  towards  you,  and  when  I  get  home, 
my  Jeannie  dear,  meet  me,  oh  meet  me  with  a  brim- 
ming bucket  of  fresh  sparkling  ice-cold  water  from 
the  mountain  stream  at  Coed-Ithel;  for  here  it  is 
sometimes  green  and  sometimes  grey,  but  always 
loathsome  to  taste  and  smell.  I  am  very  well,  my 
darling  little  Jeannette,  and  only  just  miss  enjoying 
myself;  but  of  course  it 's  rather  a  bore  to  be  always 
fighting  the  water-trouble  instead  of  the  Mullah.  .  . 
".  .  .  Moved  our  pitch  yesterday.  The  camping 
ground  is  a  stony  glaring  treeless  place,  and  the 
heat  by  day  is  very  great.  The  ground  gets  red-hot. 
The  wall  of  our  zareba  is  made  of  cut  thorn  bush, 
and  branches  laced  with  barbed  wire.  I  have  a 
jolly  little  day  shelter  here  of  camel  mats,  but  at 
night  it  is  preferable  to  be  in  the  open,  and  enjoy 
all  the  cool  air  one  can  get.  .  .  .  I  am  of  course, 
glad  to  have  had  this  little  experience  and,  to  have 
seen  something  of  a  new  country;  but  I  cannot 
help  doubting  whether  God  ever  made  a  more 
uninteresting  spot,  or  one  less  designed  for  human 
habitation. " 

A  later  letter, — in  a  worn  little  blue  cover 
that  told  its  own  tale,  and  which  bore  the  inscrip- 
tion "  On  active  service,  Somaliland,  no  stamps 
available," — arrived  by  the  same  post,  and  was 
dated  from  Galkayu. 


OF  GROSVENOR  SQUARE  251 

".  .  .  /  awoke  in  the  cool  and  dusty  night,  (we 
have  lately  been  afflicted  with  dust-storms) — and 
heard  a  little  commotion  of  some  one  arriving  in  the 
zareba.  In  the  light  of  the  full  moon  I  saw  a  few 
people  moving  about,  which  was  unusual  at  1.30 
a.m.  Then  heard  a  voice  announce  the  arrival  of 
five  mailbags.  I  awoke  again  at  5  with  the  feelings 
of  a  child  on  Christmas  morning,  wondering  what 
would  be  in  my  stocking.  Do  people  at  home  half 
realise,  I  wonder,  the  desperate  eagerness  with  which 
one  waits  and  hopes  for  letters?  You  do  at  any 
rate,  and  how  I  bless  you,  my  Jeannie,  for  so  faith- 
fully writing. 

"  /  got  your  letters  forwarded  from  South  Africa, 
and  three  later  ones,  all  together.  Why  on  earth 
should  you  trouble  your  dear  anxious  head  over  the 
preachments  of  ancient  servants?  There  can  be  no 
possible  reason  why  this  poor  lame  Duke  of  Mona- 
ghan,  whom  you  describe  so  pathetically,  (or  any 
other  man  with  whom  you  are  acquainted  by  this 
time]  should  not  call  upon  you,  now  that  you  have 
a  house  to  receive  them  in.  I  knew  his  brother  at 
Sandhurst,  Lord  Dermot  Liscarney,  one  of  the  best 
fellows  I  ever  met,  and  a  first- class  bat;  and  I  saw 
a  good  deal  of  him  in  South  Africa,  one  way  and 
another  also.  In  fact  we  were  rather  specially 
friendly;  but  I  had  no  idea  we  were  in  any  way  re- 
lated. I  've  sent  him  a  line  to-day,  for  he  wrote 
me  an  awfully  nice  letter  when  he  heard  I  was 
coming  here,  which  I  'm  ashamed  to  say  I  never 


2  52  THE  LONELY  LADY 

answered.  It  was  very  nice  of  the  old  Duchess  to 
have  asked  you  to  her  party;  don't  let  all  this  mag- 
nificence turn  my  little  Jeanne  into  a  fine  lady,  or 
I  shan't  know  her  when  I  do  see  her.  .  .  .  I  some- 
times get  into  rather  a  rotten  mood,  as  everybody  in 
these  circumstances  must  now  and  then,  and  feel 
I'  d  chuck  this  old  show  and  every  hope  of  promo- 
tion I  've  got  in  the  world,  for  a  single  glimpse  of 
those  I  love  best.  ..." 

Jeanne  was  jealous  for  a  moment  that  Louis 
could  thus  speak  in  the  plural,  and  mention,  as 
it  were,  his  love  for  her  in  the  same  breath  as  his 
affection  for  Uncle  Roberts  and  Granny  Morgan, 
and  his  countless  school  and  army  friends.  "It 
is  something  quite  different — apart  from  all  the 
rest,  and  above  it, "  she  reflected,  with  a  sigh  that 
Louis  should  even  seem  to  see  this  less  clearly 
than  she  did. 

"/  've  had  a  very  nice  letter  from  old  Valentine. 
He  seems  to  tumble  to  my  notions  about  saving 
you  all  the  trouble  he  can,  and  supplying  you  and 
me  with  more  oof  than  we  could  possibly  spend. 
Not  that  money  is  of  any  use  to  me  here.  Heavens! 
what  untold  gold  one  would  gladly  exchange  for 
a  bottle  of  Bass,  or  a  single  tumbler  of  fresh  ice- 
cold — but  I  will  not  hark  back  to  the  water  question, 
of  which  you  must  be  heartily  sick.  ...  To  return 
to  our  family  lawyer!  Vast  sums,  in  excess  of  my 


OF  GROSVENOR  SQUARE  253 

wildest  hopes,  have  been  placed  to  my  credit  at  Cox's 
by  this  kind  accommodating  old  boy;  who  has  fur- 
ther taken  charge  of  all  papers,  etc.,  of  mine,  de- 
posited there,  in  accordance  with  my  directions;  so 
now,  in  any  emergency,  my  Jeannie,  you  have  some 
one  to  turn  to.  ...  /  gather  from  your  letters 
that  you  are  a  little  disappointed  at  the  comparative 
calm  with  which  I  appeared  to  receive  the  astounding 
— the  overwhelming  news  of  our  great-aunt's  munifi- 
cence; but  it  was  next  to  impossible  to  convey  my 
breathlessness  in  my  letters,  and  I  have  likewise 
been  a  pauper  so  long  that  I  am  perfectly  unable  to 
realise  the  change.  Only  wait  till  I  get  home,  and 
am  able  to  prove  to  myself  that  it  is  real,  by  handing 
over  your  share  to  your  own  safe-keeping,  and 
playing  ducks  and  drakes  with  the  rest!  No,  no, 
I  have  grown  older  and  wiser,  and  you  shall  not 
have  to  reproach  me  any  more  for  unjustifiable  ex- 
travagance. Still  it  must  be  great  agony  to  you,  my 
poor  careful  Jeanne,  to  reflect  what  a  lot  of  money 
the  upkeep  of  your  fine  house  must  cost;  and  if  you 
don 't  have  a  good  time  in  it,  I  'II  never  forgive  you! 
Seriously,  the  relief  to  me  is  so  great — and  would 
have  been  with  a  hundredth  part  of  what  our  kind 
relative  has  showered  upon  us  that  I  catch  myself 
laughing  hilariously  whenever  I  remember  what 
has  befallen.  .  .  . 

"...  Yesterday  one  of  the  men  gave  me  an 
ostrich's  egg, — such  a  delicious  change!  I  made 
an  omelette  and  seven  of  us  ate  heartily  of  it;  about 


254  THE  LONELY  LADY 

equal  to  twenty  hen's  eggs.  The  men  find  a  good 
many  patrolling.  I  rather  hope  to  shoot  a  good 
ostrich  or  two  myself,  though  what  I  could  do  with 
the  plumes  unless  we  made  panaches  of  them,  I 
don't  know!  Still  then  I  might  cry  with  dear 
Cyrano  whom  you  won't  read — that  there  is  one 
thing  I  will  present 

'  sans  une  tache  .  .  ~ 
Quand  j'entrerai  chez  Dieu  .  .  . 
.  .  .  c'est  mon  panache! ' 

.  .  .  God  bless  you,  for  ever,  my  darling  sister. 
The  photo  of  your  dear  little  round  face  rests  ever 
in  my  haver  sac — /  must  go  to  work.  ..." 

Jeanne  wrote  long,  long  letters  in  answer  to 
these,  though  she  prayed  that  her  brother  might 
be  on  the  way  home  before  they  could  reach  him. 

She  made  every  preparation  she  could  think 
of,  for  his  return;  but  beyond  working  almost 
feverishly  at  her  French  studies,  and  the  arrange- 
ment of  his  room,  there  was  not  much  for  her  to  do. 

Mrs.  Dunham  now  began  to  refer  very  fre- 
quently to  the  Captain,  as  she  preferred  to  call 
Louis,  talking  of  him  as  though  she  had  known 
him  all  her  life. 

"There  '11  be  a  deal  to  settle  when  the  Captain 
comes  home,  ma'am.  He  '11  have  to  decide 
whether  to  keep  on  us  old  servants  or  not. " 

"Oh  Mrs.   Dunham,   you  little  know  him,  if 


OF  GROSVENOR  SQUARE  255 

you  could  suppose  he  would  turn  you  out  of  the 
house  you  have  served  so  long  and  so  faithfully. " 

"Yes'm, "  said  Dunham  briefly,  accepting 
Jeanne's  consolation  as  well-meant,  but  inade- 
quate. "But  it  's  not  so  much  the  gentleman 
these  things  depend  on,  as  the  lady. " 

"  But  I  should  be  very  sorry  if  you  went,  Mrs. 
Dunham," 

"It  's  not  you,  ma'am,  as  I  'm  alluding  to," 
said  Dunham,  rather  pityingly,  "but  the  Cap- 
tain's lady;  you  must  look  to  see  him  get  married 
when  he  comes  home  to  settle  down. " 

"Not  just  yet,  I  hope,"  Jeanne's  smile  was  a 
very  faint  one.  "  I  have  not  seen  him  for  five 
years,  Mrs.  Dunham.  I  could  not  spare  him  to  a 
wife  just  yet." 

"No,  ma'am,  mothers  and  sisters  generally 
feels  that  way.  My  own  brother  married  as 
poor  a  creature  as  never  was — though  dead  and 
gone  these  twenty  years,  poor  thing,  and  him  too. 
But  a  young  gentleman  like  the  Captain,  ma'am, 
and  so  handsome  and  all,  does  n't  get  left  long, 
Miss  Jane,  as  a  rule. " 

"  I  suppose  not, "  said  Jeanne,  with  a  sigh. 

"  If  you'd  seen  an  old  family  die  out  as  I  have, 
Miss  Jeanne,  you  'd  welcome  the  day,"  said  Dun- 
ham, solemnly.  "Never  a  word  would  you  hear 
no  more  against  marriage  or  its  consequences." 

She  was  too  discreet  to  breathe  a  word  con- 
cerning Jeanne's  own  prospects;  but  the  whole 


256  THE  LONELY  LADY 

household  was  now  agreed  that  the  Duke  was 
coming  a  wooing,  for  he  visited  99  Grosvenor 
Square  as  punctually  as  the  man  who  came  to 
wind  up  the  clocks. 

It  was  Dunham  who  suggested  to  Jeanne, 
(who  would  not  have  dared  to  originate  such  a 
proposal)  that  she  might  with  propriety  relax 
the  outward  signs  of  mourning  for  her  great-aunt, 
now  that  three  months  had  elapsed  since  her 
demise;  and  appear  in  white,  or  violet,  according 
to  her  taste. 

The  love  of  romance  which  lurks  in  almost 
every  spinster's  bosom,  dictated  this  suggestion 
of  Dunham's,  rather  than  any  forgetfulness  of 
her  beloved  mistress. 

As  Hewitt  busied  himself  (more  reckless  of 
cost  than  ever)  in  rendering  the  morning-room 
a  perfect  bower  of  spring  blossom,  that  the  back- 
ground of  courtship  might  not  be  wanting,  so 
did  the  old  woman  lie  awake  at  night  plotting 
and  planning  white  muslins,  mauve  chiffons,  and 
violet  velvet ;  as  suitable  at  once  to  maiden  mod- 
esty and  ducal  dignity. 

"He  is  only  waiting  for  her  brother  to  come 
home,"  she  thought;  and  the  whole  household 
was  of  the  same  mind. 

The  irreproachable  character  of  the  suitor — 
the  poverty  of  his  exchequer — the  wildness  of 
his  brothers — all  these  facts  were  perfectly  well- 
known  to  the  aged  and  unsuspected  guardians 


OF  GROSVENOR  SQUARE  257 

of  the  lonely  lady's  interests;  and  she  was  at  a 
loss  to  account  for  the  daily  increasing  deference 
with  which  she  was  now  treated. 

Few  of  the  family  secrets  of  the  great  are 
unknown  to  gentlemen  of  Hewitt's  profession; 
and  his  friend  and  crony,  the  solemn  major-domo 
of  the  Duchess's  house  in  Park  Lane,  was  as  well 
aware  as  Hewitt  himself  how  often  his  Grace 
went  to  tea  at  No.  99  Grosvenor  Square. 

But  that  his  Grace  was  loved,  and  his  Grace's 
mother  very  heartily  disliked,  by  her  household, 
the  news  would  assuredly,  through  her  maid, 
have  come  to  the  august  ears  of  the  Duchess. 
But  as  it  was,  there  was  not  a  scullion  in  the 
ducal  establishment  who  would  have  thwarted 
the  Duke's  pleasure  to  please  his  mamma;  and 
Denis  pursued  his  tranquil  way  without  a  suspicion 
of  the  interest  with  which  his  comings  and  goings 
were  regarded. 

He  met  Jeanne  walking  in  the  Park,  on  a 
sunny  afternoon  in  early  April,  as  he  was  passing 
Grosvenor  Gate,  and  wondering  whether  it  were 
too  soon  to  call  upon  her  again. 

For  the  first  time,  he  turned  and  walked  with 
her. 

Dunham  fell  behind  respectfully,  devoting 
her  attention  to  the  breathless  waddling  York- 
shire terrier;  and  congratulating  herself  that 
her  young  lady  was  wearing  her  new  white  gown. 

13 


258  THE  LONELY  LADY 

Jeanne's  dress  was  simple  enough,  but  the 
Duke  had  never  seen  her  hitherto,  in  anything 
approaching  fashionable  attire;  and  much  as  he 
had  appreciated  her  simplicity,  the  fact  that 
a  pretty  woman  is  prettier  when  she  is  well  dressed, 
came  home  to  him  rather  forcibly. 

The  white  cloth  gown  fitted  her  full  slender 
figure  closely,  and  she  wore  violets  at  her  pretty 
white  throat  and  in  her  shady  black  hat. 

"I  am  very  glad  to  meet  you,  Cousin  Denis, 
for  I  have  had  a  letter  from  the  Duchess,  and  I 
want  to  ask  you  about  it. " 

Now  the  Duchess  was  down  at  Challon sleigh, 
at  this  moment,  and  Denis  was  keeping  house 
in  Park  Lane  by  himself,  so  that  this  intelligence 
startled  him  very  much. 

Jeanne  explained. 

"It  is  a  very  kind  letter;  asking  me  to  go  and 
stay  with  her  for  Easter;  and  I  think  it  must  be 
because  Louis  knew  your  brother,  Lord  Dermot 
Liscarney,  at  Sandhurst,  for  Louis  said  in  his 
last  letter  that  he  had  written  to  him.  Do  you 
think  I  ought  to  go?" 

She  wondered  why  he  was  so  slow  to  answer. 

He  was  looking  away  from  her  when  his  reply 
came,  in  words  even  more  carefully  measured 
than  usual. 

"There  can  be  no  possible  reason  why  you 
should  not  go. " 

"But  shall  you  be  there?"  she  asked  wistfully. 


OF  GROSVENOR  SQUARE  259 

"  I  should  be  afraid  to  go  if  you  were  not  there. 
Even  with  you  to  help  me  I  am  afraid  I  might 
make  many  mistakes  and  do  ridiculous  things 
without  meaning  to. " 

The  Duke's  face  cleared,  and  he  spoke  with 
more  boyish  heartiness  than  was  his  wont. 

"Of  course  I  shall  be  there;  and  you  could  not 
be  ridiculous  if  you  tried. " 

"  But  ought  n't  I  just  to  explain  to  the  Duchess 
that  I  was  brought  up  in  a  farmhouse,  so  that 
she  should  know  what  to  expect, "  said  scrupulous 
Jeanne.  "After  all,  I  have  never  stayed  any- 
where in  my  life,  except  in  Pen-y-waun  Rectory 
when  it  was  too  wet  to  go  backwards  and  forwards 
to  Coed-Ithel.  And  I  know  that  that  would  not 
be  at  all  the  same  kind  of  life. " 

"You  can  tell  her  when  you  get  there,  if  you 
like,  and  if  the  opportunity  arises.  But  there  is 
not  the  slightest  necessity  for  doing  so.  And  I 
should  say  nothing  about  it  in  my  letter;  and 
simply  write  an  ordinary  note  of  acceptance." 

"  But  I  don't  know  even  how  to  write  an  ordin- 
ary note  of  acceptance.  I  thought  you  would 
help  me,"  she  said  ingenuously. 

He  looked  at  his  watch. 

"Then  we  ought  to  go  and  do  it  at  once,  if 
we  are  to  catch  the  country  post." 

They  walked  slowly  down  Upper  Grosvenor 
Street,  Jeanne  considerately  moderating  her  pace 
to  suit  the  halting  footsteps  of  her  companion. 


26o  THE  LONELY  LADY 

Dunham  followed  them  solemnly — a  model  of 
discreet  chaperonage,  keeping  close  to  her  young 
lady's  heels,  and  faithfully  leading  Miss  Marney's 
little  dog. 

The  invitation  had  come  about  in  the  simplest 
manner,  through  the  letter  which  Louis  had 
written  to  Lord  Dermot,  and  exactly  as  Jeanne 
had  surmised. 

Dermot  was  his  mother's  favourite  son,  and 
his  lightest  suggestions  met  with  more  attention 
than  his  elder  brother's  ceremonious  requests. 

Thus,  although  the  Duchess  had  demurred 
when  Denis  had  asked  her  to  leave  a  card  at  99 
Grosvenor  Square,  on  a  young  lady  whom  he 
declared  to  be  a  relative;  and  made  a  favour  of 
promising  eventually  to  do  as  he  wished  in  the 
matter — she  yet  despatched  an  Easter  invita- 
tion to  Jeanne,  without  raising  any  difficulties 
at  all,  on  receiving  her  son  Dermot's  laconic 
explanation. 

"I  've  heard  from  a  pal  of  mine — an  awfully 
decent  fellow — name  de  Courset.  It  appears 
he  's  a  connection  of  ours.  His  sister  came  to 
one  of  Monaghan's  musical  shows,  he  says,  I 
suppose  you  know  her?" 

"I  'm  afraid  I  don't  remember  her,  my  dear 
boy,"  said  the  Duchess,  shaking  her  head,  "you 
know  what  shoals  of  people  Denis  makes  me  ask 
to  his  concerts." 

"Well  she  lives  in  Grosvenor  Square — his  ship 


OF  GROSVENOR  SQUARE  261 

appears  to  have  come  in — an  old  aunt  has  left  him 
all  her  money — I  believe  he  has  nobody  but  this 
one  sister  belonging  to  him. " 

"Grosvenor  Square,"  said  the  Duchess,  "oh, 
then  I  do  remember;  for  it  was  at  our  own  old 
house  that  Denis  insisted  on  my  leaving  a  card. 
Yes.  He  met  her  at  the  Whelers,  and  found 
out  she  was  connected  somehow. " 

The  whole  incident  of  Jeanne's  call  upon  Mrs. 
Wheler,  or  as  much  of  it  as  she  had  witnessed, 
together  with  the  subsequent  introduction  of 
Jeanne  to  herself,  had  long  ago  vanished  from 
the  mind  of  the  Duchess. 

"  Well,  I  wish  you  'd  ask  her  down  to  Challon- 
sleigh,  mother.  It  would  save  my  having  to  go 
and  call.  I  Ve  no  use  for  calls.  And  I  know 
the  poor  chap  would  like  it.  He  's  one  of  the 
most  decent  fellows  I  ever  met,"  said  Dermot, 
repeating  the  highest  terms  of  praise  his  vocabu- 
lary contained.  "One  of  my  very  best  pals. 
I  'd  no  idea  he  was  a  cousin. " 

"Cousin,  nonsense,"  said  the  Duchess,  "I 
suppose  they  are  related  to  old  Miss  Mamey  who 
bought  the  house  from  us.  She  was  a  distant 
cousin,  I  believe.  A  most  disagreeable  woman, 
very  stuck  up  but  enormously  rich.  I  only 
met  her  once  and  I  took  a  dislike  to  her  instantly. 
Your  poor  father  wanted  me  to  go  and  see  her, 
I  remember,  but  nothing  would  have  induced 
me  to  set  foot  in  the  house  again  at  that  time. 


262  THE  LONELY  LADY 

I  got  it  into  my  head  it  was  an  unlucky  house; 
everything  went  wrong  in  it.  The  old  Duke 
left  every  penny  he  could  away  from  your  father ; 
you  nearly  died  of  the  measles ;  and  it  all  culmin- 
ated in  your  brother's  accident. " 

"I  ain't  superstitious,  except  perhaps,  about 
racing,"  said  Dermot. 

"  If  Miss  Marney  left  this  young  man  her  money 
as  well  as  the  house — "  said  the  Duchess,  pursuing 
another  train  of  thought,  "he  must  be  uncom- 
monly wealthy. " 

"I  daresay,"  said  Dermot. 

"And  he  has  only  this  one  sister?" 

"So  he  says.  She  must  be  pretty  sick  over 
this  Somaliland  business.  It  looks  rotten.  I 
hope  he'll  get  safe  through,  poor  chap,"  said 
Dermot.  "  I  'm  afraid  it  's  not  much  of  a  picnic, 
though,  by  all  accounts. " 

" Is  he  out  there?"  said  the  Duchess.  "  I  '11  ask 
her  down  for  Easter.  What  did  you  say  was 
her  name?" 


CHAPTER  XVI 
THE  DUCHESS 

THE  afternoon  sunshine  brightened  the  dead 
moor,  and  the  golden  gorse  blazed  against  a  deep 
blue  April  sky  and  scudding,  dazzling,  white  clouds. 

The  hedge-rows  were  putting  forth  young 
leaves,  and  the  baby  oaks  hardly  yet  uncrum- 
pling  faint  yellow  foliage,  above  the  clumps  of 
primroses  and  the  patches  of  blue  violets  which 
here  and  there  lightened  the  dry  banks. 

The  ducal  carriage  skirted  the  open  moorland 
on  the  one  side,  and  the  tall  hedge-row  on  the 
other,  and  Jeanne  seated  alone  within  it,  drank 
the  fresh  delicious  air  through  the  open  window. 

Dunham  followed  decorously  in  a  fly  with  the 
luggage. 

She  had  smiled  outright,  for  the  first  time 
since  her  lady's  death,  when  Jeanne  had  com- 
municated to  her  the  fact  of  the  invitation.  A 
small,  difficult,  sour  smile,  but  still  a  smile  of  secret 
pleasure  and  triumph,  though  her  immediate 
comment  had  sounded  to  Jeanne  extremely 
irrelevant. 

263 


264  THE  LONELY  LADY 

"  I  daresay  William  will  take  care  of  the  little 
dog.  I  would  n't  trust  Hewitt.  His  memory 
is  that  unreliable  nowadays." 

"Why,  Mrs.  Dunham,  what  can  my  invitation 
have  to  do  with  the  little  dog? " 

"We  can't  take  him,  ma'am.  I  shouldn't 
advise  it.  Some  people  are  very  fidgetty  about 
having  dogs  on  a  visit. " 

"  Do  you  mean — were  you  thinking — of  coming 
with  me?"  said  Jeanne,  with  a  sinking  heart. 

"Of  course  it  's  as  you  wish,  ma'am.  If  you 
would  prefer  another  maid,  I  've  nothing  to  say, " 
said  Dunham,  stiffly. 

"I  never  thought  of  such  a  thing.  Must  I 
take  a  maid?  Of  course  if  any  one  comes,  it  must 
be  you,"  said  Jeanne,  much  flurried.  "But  the 
Duchess  says  nothing  about  it  in  her  letter." 
She  referred  anxiously  to  the  scrawled  and  coro- 
neted  sheet  of  note-paper. 

"  How  should  her  Grace  mention  such  a  thing, 
ma'am,"  said  Dunham,  in  withering  tones.  "It 
would  be  as  much  a  matter  of  course,  to  her  to 
take  a  maid  as  a  brush  and  comb.  But  it  's  not 
much  as  you  allow  me  to  do  for  you,  Miss  Jane; 
and  of  course  I  'm  getting  old — " 

"Oh  Mrs.  Dunham,  don't,"  cried  her  simple 
lady,  almost  in  tears.  "You  know  very  well 
I  have  never  been  used  to  maids.  Why  should 
we  pretend  otherwise,  just  you  and  me?  I  have 
always  done  everything  for  myself.  It  's  not 


OF  GROSVENOR  SQUARE  265 

that  I  don't  value  and  respect  you — you  know 
it  isn't,"  her  voice  faltered — "though  I  make 
many  mistakes." 

"You  '11  make  far  less,  ma'am,  begging  your 
pardon,  with  me  on  the  watch,"  said  Dunham, 
softening.  "Nor  I  can't  see  as  you  make  many 
neither,  only  you  're  that  doubtful  of  yourself. 
But  't  is  no  novelty  for  me  to  stay  in  big  houses, 
ma'am,  for  when  Miss  Marney  was  young,  she 
was  always  a- visiting  about,  and  took  a  footman 
with  her  besides  a  maid,  as  a  matter  of  course. 
If  you  won't  think  it  a  liberty,  Miss  Jane,  I  could 
very  well  put  you  in  the  way  of  a  lot  of  little 
things  as  you  could  hardly  be  expected  to  know 
of  yourself,  as  one  might  say." 

"Of  course  I  should  be  only  very  grateful  to 
you  if  you  would,"  said  Jeanne;  and  she  thought 
that  the  increased  consideration  which  Dunham 
now  displayed  towards  her,  denoted  that  the  old 
woman  was  growing  fond  of  her  at  last. 

"With  Mrs.  Dunham  on  the  watch  upstairs,  and 
Cousin  Denis  downstairs,  "  she  reflected,  "  I  should 
think  I  can  hardly  go  much  amiss  after  all. " 

Nevertheless  she  was  not  a  little  anxious  as 
the  carriage  turned  into  the  park. 

Here  the  rolling  slopes  of  emerald  green,  alter- 
nating with  bare  brown  patches  of  shaven 
bracken, — were  crowned  with  great  spreading 
oaks,  and  giant  elms,  casting  long  shadows  across 
the  turf. 


266  THE  LONELY  LADY 

The  white  road  gleamed  in  the  sunshine,  the 
deep  waters  of  a  lake  lay  still  and  glassy,  reflect- 
ing newly-leaved  bushes,  and  motionless  dead 
stems. 

Oh,  earth,  how  beautiful  and  how  silent,  thought 
little  Jeanne ;  for  here  it  was  the  over-crowded  and 
noisy  city  that  seemed  to  her  remote  and  dream- 
like. 

The  silence  ended  as  the  carriage  drew  up 
before  the  house;  of  which  the  main  entrance, 
rather  curiously,  was  at  the  back,  within  view 
of  extensive  stables  and  kennels,  and  a  newly 
built  red-tiled  tennis-court. 

Jeanne  was  now  ushered  round  tall  Spanish 
leather  screens,  which  sheltered  the  entrance 
to  the  outer  vestibule — into  an  immense  oak-pan- 
nelled  hall,  where  a  tea-table  was  drawn  up 
before  a  huge  fire  of  burning  logs.  Various  people 
were  seated  around,  talking  and  laughing,  as  it 
seemed,  at  the  top  of  their  voices ;  and  several  large 
boar-hounds  were  lying  or  standing  about  in  pic- 
turesque attitudes. 

The  Duchess  was  so  unlike  the  fashionable 
velvet-clad  long-trained  personage  of  Jeanne's 
recollection,  that  she  hardly  recognised  her 
hostess,  who  advanced  to  meet  her  with  out- 
stretched hands,  and  a  very  kind  smile  of  welcome. 

She  now  wore  a  short  and  scanty  skirt  of 
battered  mud-splashed  tweed  that  barely  reached 


OF  GROSVENOR  SQUARE  267 

her  ankles;  a  loose,  open,  baggy  coat  of  the  same 
material,  which  caused  her  rotund  figure  to 
look  perfectly  shapeless;  and  a  knitted  tam-o'' 
shanter  perched  on  her  grey  hair  above  her  ruddy 
healthy  countenance. 

"The  Rector's  wife  would  never  have  been 
seen  in  such  a  gown,"  said  poor  Jeanne,  after- 
wards describing  the  appearance  of  the  Duchess 
to  Dunham. 

"Don't  you  mind  thinking  of  the  Rector's 
wife,"  advised  the  cautious  Dunham.  "Forget 
her  and  all  her  ways.  Watch  her  Grace,  ma'am; 
or  since  her  Grace  is  a  bit  eccentric,  watch  the 
other  ladies  here.  The  fashions  is  changed, 
no  doubt,  since  me  and  my  poor  lady  stayed 
about,  but  what  they  does,  is  right." 

"Some  were  dressed  like  the  Duchess;  and 
some  in  beautiful  long  flowing  robes  of  lace  and 
pale  colours  like  evening  dresses  only  not  cut 
low;  and  one  or  two  in  riding  habits";  said  poor 
Jeanne,  hopelessly  confused.  "And  one  or  two 
of  the  gentlemen  in  boots  and  breeches. " 

"They  '11  have  come  in  from  hunting  and 
taken  a  cup  of  tea  before  going  to  change," 
said  Dunham,  "and  the  ones  in  their  tea -gowns 
has  changed ;  and  the  others  very  like  been  walking 
late.  I  wish  I  had  thought  to  get  you  a  tea-gown, 
but  it  seemed  to  me  you  was  too  young,"  said 
the  anxious  old  woman,  "but  I  '11  pick  up  all  I 
can  in  the  Room,  ma'am,  you  may  depend. " 


268  THE  LONELY  LADY 

Jeanne  knew  not  what  the  Room  might  be, 
but  she  placed  implicit  reliance  on  her  faithful 
attendant. 

The  Duchess  introduced  Jeanne  to  the  three 
ladies  and  the  two  dogs  nearest  the  tea-table,  and 
then  said,  "I  believe  you  know  my  son,"  in 
her  loud  and  cheerful  voice,  but  with  very  little 
idea,  as  Denis  shook  hands  with  her  visitor,  how 
very  well  acquainted  they  were. 

"Where  's  Dermot;  it  is  Dermot  who  knows 
your  brother  so  well;  but  he  shall  take  you  in 
to  dinner  to-night,"  said  the  Duchess.  "By  the 
bye,  I  hope  you  have  good  news  of  your  brother; 
he  's  in  Somaliland,  is  n't  he?"  and  the  Duchess 
turned  her  attention  to  somebody  else,  without 
waiting  for  Jeanne's  answer. 

The  tea  was  bitter  with  long  standing,  and 
the  buttered  toast  so  cold  that  old  Granny  Morgan 
would  have  thrown  it  into  the  fire  before  pre- 
senting it  to  a  guest;  but  Jeanne  reflected  that 
great  ladies  cannot  be  expected  to  understand 
such  details ;  and  decided, — as  she  ate  and  drank, 
in  the  utmost  alarm,  everything  that  was  set 
before  her, — that  the  tales  she  had  heard  of  the 
carelessness  of  servants  in  large  houses,  must 
be  only  too  true. 

Having  finished  her  tea,  and  scorched  the 
side  of  her  face  next  the  roaring  log-fire,  to  a 
perfectly  crimson  hue — she  was  invited  to  inspect 


OF  GROSVENOR  SQUARE  269 

her  room,  and  the  Duchess  led  her  thither  herself 
with  great  kindness  of  manner,  talking  all  the 
time  in  her  loud  authoritative  gabble,  and  never 
waiting  for  an  answer ;  a  habit  which  occasionally 
relieved  her  hearers  of  embarrassment,  for  her 
questions  were  often  inconvenient. 

"So  you  live  all  by  yourself  in  your  great 
house.  You  must  be  very  dull.  But  I  daresay 
you  have  plenty  of  visitors — "  Here  Jeanne 
would  fain  have  told  her  that  the  Duke  of  Mona- 
ghan  was  her  only  visitor,  but  the  Duchess  gave 
her  no  time,  and  she  was  too  frightened  to  in- 
terrupt. "It  was  always  on  my  conscience 
that  I  never  called  upon  yoxir  aunt,  as  my  dear 
Duke  wished  me  to  do —  '  thus  she  alluded  to 
her  departed  husband, — "but  you  know  my 
son's  accident,  which  happened  there,  made 
me  declare  I  would  never  enter  that  house  again. 
So  you  must  n't  think  it  unfriendly  if  I  never  do. 
The  resolution  was  taken,  you  see,  before  you 
were  born  or  thought  of.  Why  you  can't  be 
twenty. "  Jeanne  tried  to  interpolate  a  correct 
statement  of  her  age,  but  the  Duchess  had  flown 
to  another  subject,  as  her  custom  was,  pursu- 
ing her  own  train  of  thought  undisturbed.  "I 
suppose  you  have  a  companion.  Companions 
are  great  bores.  I  had  one  for  a  time,  but  she 
had  neuralgia  so  badly  I  was  glad  to  see  the  last 
of  her.  It  was  quite  depressing,"  (here  the 
Duchess  laughed  heartily)  "whenever  I  wanted 


270  THE  LONELY  LADY 

her  I  was  always  told  she  had  just  taken  anti- 
pyrin.  And  of  course  you  know  one  must  not 
stir  till  the  effects  of  that  have  passed  off.  So 
bad  for  the  heart.  I  hope  you  never  drug  yourself. 
However,  I  am  told  every  one  does,  nowadays. 
I  never  touch  anything  of  the  kind.  Here  is  your 
room.  Now  do  make  yourself  quite  comfortable 
and  at  home,  and  look  upon  me  as  a  mother  all 
the  time  you  're  here,  my  dear,  for  I  'm  very  fond 
of  chaperoning  girls,  never  having  had  daughters 
of  my  own." 

Jeanne  was  quite  astonished  at  so  much  kind- 
ness, but  before  she  had  time  to  utter  her  grati- 
tude, the  great  lady  was  already  speeding  away 
down  the  passage,  calling  to  her  favourite  boar 
hound,  who  had  followed  her  up-stairs  with 
stately  velvet  tread. 

The  bark  of  the  Duchess,  it  was  always  said, 
was  worse  than  her  bite ;  but  she  barked  so  loud 
and  so  long,  that  a  bite  might  have  been  more 
easily  endured.  Thus,  though  she  was  in  no 
sense,  a  bad-hearted  woman,  but  on  the  contrary 
a  very  kind  one,  she  was  unpopular  among  her 
father's  people  and  on  her  own  estate;  where 
her  kindnesses  were  received  so  thanklessly  that 
she  might  be  almost  excused  for  forming  a  poor 
opinion  of  her  tenants'  capacity  for  gratitude. 

But  a  sharp  tongue  may  inflict  wounds  that 
cod-liver  oil,  chicken  broth,  and  port  wine  cannot 
cure;  nor  do  coals  and  blankets  necessarily  warm 


OF  GROSVENOR  SQUARE  271 

hearts  chilled  and  offended  by  fault-finding 
carried  to  excess;  so  that  whilst  her  sons,  and 
more  especially  Lord  Dermot,  who  was  to  inherit 
her  property,  were  exceedingly  popular  at  Chal- 
lonsleigh, — their  mother,  who  had  been  born 
and  bred  there,  was  at  once  disliked  and  feared, 
to  an  extent  of  which  she  was,  happily,  very 
little  aware. 

Dunham  had  paused  in  her  unpacking,  and 
made  her  old-fashioned  curtsey  as  her  Grace 
entered  the  apartment,  receiving  a  good-natured 
nod  in  reply;  and  the  Duchess  was  in  high  good 
humour  as  she  stumped  away  to  her  own  rooms. 

She  hated  smart,  self-assertive  young  ladies, 
and  pert  independent  maids;  but  Jeanne's  maid 
was  ancient  and  respectable  to  such  a  degree 
that  her  mere  appearance  was  a  voucher  for  her 
mistress,  and  Jeanne  herself  was  timid  and  gentle 
as  could  be  wished,  whilst  she  evidently  preferred 
listening  to  her  elders,  to  talking  herself. 

The  Duchess  asked  no  more  of  a  young  woman 
than  that  she  should  be  respectable,  retiring,  and 
rich;  and  she  decided  that  Jeanne  possessed  all 
these  recommendations  to  her  favour. 

She  questioned  her  son  regarding  the  riches, 
to  make  sure;  but  as  she  answered  her  own  ques- 
tions the  Duke  did  not  feel  it  incumbent  upon 
him  to  correct  her,  though  he  knew  very  well 
that  if  his  mother  discovered  later  that  she  was 


272  THE  LONELY  LADY 

wrong  in  any  of  her  assumptions,  she  would  blame 
him  for  her  mistake. 

"Oh,  Mrs.  Dunham,  have  you  ever  seen  a 
prettier  room?"  cried  Jeanne,  the  moment  she 
was  left  alone  with  her  maid. 

"  Dear  yes,  ma'am ;  but  I  wish  you  could  remem- 
ber to  call  me  plain  Dunham,  and  be  done  with 
it.  I  'm  sure  I  don't  know  what  her  Grace  would 
think  to  hear  you.  " 

"  I  will,  I  will  indeed,  Dunham, "  said  Jeanne, 
obedient  though  crestfallen. 

"  Our  spare  rooms  at  Orsett  was  far  finer  than 
this,  though  of  course,  you  being  an  unmarried 
lady  would  n't  be  given  one  of  the  best.  Still, 
one  can't  keep  London  bedrooms  fresh  and  sweet 
and  lavender-scented  like  this,  and  I  could  al- 
most think  myself  back  at  the  old  place,"  said 
Dunham,  sighing  as  she  looked  round  the  pleasant 
spacious  country  bedroom;  with  its  chintz 
curtained  four-poster,  white  Dresden  chimney 
ornaments,  and  the  fresh  daffodils  on  the  muslin 
draped  toilet-table. 

The  big  mullioned  windows  looked  on  to  a 
stretch  of  wild  park,  over  which  a  herd  of 
deer  was  quietly  moving ;  and  through  the  bare 
branches  of  distant  woodlands,  blue  hills  were 
faintly  to  be  discerned. 

"It  is  so  peaceful  and  so  beautiful,"  Jeanne 
said.  She  leaned  out  of  the  open  window,  to 


OF  GROSVENOR  SQUARE  273 

enjoy  the  last  long  rays  of  the  afternoon  sunshine, 
and  cool  her  hot  cheeks;  and  her  thoughts  flew 
to  the  burning  desert  which  held  her  brother 
captive,  far  from  this  fresh  and  fragrant  English 
country. 

Louis  had  always  loved  the  spring-time;  and 
his  letters  from  India  and  from  Africa  had  yearly 
breathed  forth  his  longings  and  his  regrets. 

"  Oh  God,  send  him  safely  back  to  me,  "  prayed 
little  Jeanne,  "  but  I  must  n't  think  of  him  now, 
or  I  shall  cry,  and  he  would  want  me  to  look  my 
best,  and  do  him  honour. " 

A  servant  presently  brought  a  tray  full  of 
sprays  of  hothouse  flowers  to  the  door,  and 
Jeanne  chose  some  heliotrope  and  maidenhair 
fern  to  wear  with  her  white  gown. 

"Can't  I  help  you,  Mrs. — I  mean  Dunham," 
she  ventured  to  say,  as  the  old  woman  folded 
and  unfolded,  and  sorted  and  arranged  the  clothes 
of  her  own  choosing,  with  heartfelt  pride. 

"No,  Miss  Jane,  that  is  one  of  the  things  you 
must  n't  do.  You  should  be  lying  down  on  the 
sofa,  ma'am,  and  reading  a  book ;  or  taking  a  doze 
and  getting  yourself  as  fresh  as  you  can,  to  look 
well  when  you  're  dressed.  That  's  what  ladies 
ought  to  do  at  this  hour. " 

"But  I  am  not  tired." 

"You  will  be,  ma'am,  for  they  '11  sit  up  hours 
later  than  you  're  accustomed  to.  Dinner  at 
half  past  eight,  and  they  seldom  sits  down,  I 

•I 


274  THE  LONELY  LADY 

hear,  till  nearly  nine.  And  there  you  '11  have 
to  be,  smiling  away  as  if  you  never  wanted  to  go 
to  bed  again, "  Dunham  anxiously  instructed 
her.  "  Not  to  mention  that  you  'd  be  out  of  my 
way  on  the  sofa,  ma'am." 

Jeanne  obediently  reposed  herself  upon  the 
sofa,  in  preparation  for  being  tired  presently; 
but  the  interval  between  the  dressing-gong  and 
the  dinner  hour  being  shorter  than  Dunham 
expected,  she  was  obliged,  in  the  end,  to  hurry 
over  her  toilette;  and  only  just  missed  being 
late  after  all. 

As  she  went  down-stairs  she  endeavoured  to 
sustain  her  failing  courage  by  dwelling  upon 
reflections  calculated  to  allay  nervousness,  and 
inspire  heroism. 

"One  can  only  live  a  minute  at  a  time — a 
minute  at  a  time.  ...  I  have  but  to  sit  still  and 
watch  what  other  people  do.  ...  It  is  not  my 
dinner  this  time,  thank  heaven.  ...  I  got  over 
my  first  interview  with  the  Duchess  very  well. 
'Ce  n'est  que  le  premier  pas  qui  coute."  Jeanne 
was  proud  of  her  French,  and  this  quotation 
brought  her  triumphantly  to  the  first  broad 
landing,  which  was  decked  with  hothouse  plants, 
and  hung  with  frowning  portraits  of  ducal 
ancestors. 

"  My  frock  is  like  a  dream,  but  I  cannot  think 
it  is  I  inside  it.  ...  Oh  that  I  may  not  disgrace 
it  by  my  behaviour.  ...  I  cannot  remember 


OF  GROSVENOR  SQUARE  275 

the  names  of  any  of  the  people  I  was  introduced 
to,  but  Cousin  Denis  said  I  must  not  repeat 
people's  names  when  I  am  talking  to  them,  so 
perhaps  they  will  not  find  out  I  have  forgotten.  .  ,  . 
Jeanne — Marie — Charlotte  de  Courset,  is  this 
being  worthy  of  your  forefathers?  .  .  .  Would 
Anne-Marie,  Chanoinesse,  Comtesse  de  1'insigne 
chapitre  noble  de  Bourbourg,  have  gone  to  the 
guillotine  shaking  at  the  knees  like  this?"  This 
outburst  of  noble  indignation  brought  her  to 
the  foot  of  the  grand  staircase;  where  a  liveried 
giant,  in  powder  and  knee-breeches,  stood  in 
the  now  deserted  hall,  and  affably  indicated 
the  suite  of  ante-rooms  which  led  to  the  saloon 
where  the  party  was  assembled. 

"Worst  come  to  the  worst,"  thought  Jeanne, 
in  desperation.  "  I  can  but  leave  the  house 
early  to-morrow  morning,  before  any  one  is  up, " 
and  with  this  last  consoling  reflection  she  entered 
the  drawing-room. 

She  looked  so  much  younger  than  her  actual 
age  that  her  very  apparent  shyness  was  more 
becoming  than  awkward,  and  evoked  fresh 
approval  from  the  Duchess;  who  as  soon  as  she 
espied,  through  her  glasses,  the  timid  entry  of 
Jeanne,  made  haste  to  introduce  her  son  Der- 
mot,  who  was  to  take  his  friend's  sister  in  to 
dinner. 

"I  daresay  I  shall  have  Cousin  Denis  on  the 
other  side,  and  I  must  not  forget  that  this  is 


276  THE  LONELY  LADY 

Louis's  friend,"  thought  Jeanne,  faintly,  as  she 
took  the  tall  young  man's  proffered  arm. 

But  as  she  was  the  least  important  person  in 
the  room,  she  found  herself  almost  at  the  other 
end  of  the  long  table,  from  the  Duke  of  whose 
fair  head  she  caught  only  occasional  glimpses 
across  the  bowers  of  spring  blossom  and  the 
massive  gold  plate  with  which  the  festive  board 
was  laden. 

But  Dermot,  whose  native  shyness  was  scarcely 
less  overpowering  than  her  own,  though  he  had 
plenty  of  experience  to  counter-balance  it — 
spoke  of  Louis;  and  the  ice  was  not  only  broken, 
but  actually  thawed,  in  a  moment. 

Her  bright  little  face — with  its  fresh  red  bloom 
of  lip  and  cheek,  and  its  long-lashed  brown  eyes, 
beautiful  in  shape  and  soft  in  expression — was 
turned  towards  her  partner  constantly.  She 
listened  with  eager  delight  to  the  anecdotes  of 
Louis;  which,  pleased  with  a  success  he  seldom 
attained  as  a  raconteur,  the  young  man  contrived 
to  fish  up  from  the  depths  of  his  memory. 

He  knew  Louis  well — had  shared  more  than 
one  scrape  with  him  (but  concerning  this  he  was 
prudently  silent) — and  played  cricket  with  him 
— been  in  action  with  him — and  they  were  to- 
gether in  hospital  at  Kimberley. 

"  But  he  never  told  me  he  had  been  in  hospital, " 
said  Jeanne. 

"Lord   bless  you — we   were  in   and   out   like 


OF  GROSVENOR  SQUARE  277 

rabbits — probably  forgot  to  mention  it,"  said 
the  diplomatic  Dermot. 

"No — it  was  that  he  was  afraid  to  make  me 
anxious,"  Jeanne  said,  with  loyal  admiration. 
But  she  did  not  like  to  think  Louis  could  keep 
even  so  small  a  secret  as  this  from  her. 

"He  promised  to  tell  me  everything,"  she 
thought. 

"I  was  in,  batting,  with  him  once,  at  Sand- 
hurst, when  he  took  his  century  against  some 
local  team  or  other,"  said  Dermot,  omitting  to 
mention  his  own  almost  equally  fine  performance 
on  the  same  occasion.  "Lord,  how  he  made  me 
run — he  nearly  killed  me.  I  'm  not  so  thin  as 
he  is,"  and  he  laughed  all  over  his  broad  fair 
face;  a  laugh  so  good-natured  and  so  mirthful 
that  Jeanne  joined  in  it  without  knowing  why. 

But  he  was  not  obliged  to  spend  more  time 
than  he  liked  in  making  conversation,  for  Jeanne 
was  willing  to  talk  of  her  brother,  as  she  had  been 
to  listen  to  Lord  Dermot 's  reminiscences  of 
Louis,  so  that  he  was  enabled  to  devote  himself 
for  long  periods,  entirely  to  his  dinner,  which 
he  did  with  great  energy  and  appetite. 

The  gentleman  on  Jeanne's  other  side,  was 
afforded  an  excellent  view  of  a  thick  knob  of 
brown  hair,  and  a  very  white  and  dimpled  neck 
and  shoulder ;  but  he  scarcely  saw  even  the  profile 
of  his  pretty  neighbour;  and  no  opportunity  of 
addressing  her  was  granted  to  him. 


278  THE  LONELY  LADY 

"Was  it  all  right?  Did  I  do  well?"  she  asked 
the  Duke,  anxiously,  after  dinner. 

"Perfectly,"  he  said,  encouragingly.  "I  hope 
you  talked  a  little  to  Mr.  Jermyn,  who  sat  next 
you?  He  is  such  an  interesting  man,  and  a 
great  friend  of  my  own. " 

"I  carefully  never  spoke  to  him,"  said  poor 
Jeanne,  in  horror, "  I  thought  I  must  not  speak 
to  anybody  until  I  was  introduced. " 

"Your  neighbour  at  dinner  is  an  exception," 
said  the  Duke,  laughing  at  her  dismay.  Never 
mind,  you  can  make  up  for  it  to-morrow.  " 

"Miss  de  Courset,  come  and  play  billiard 
fives,"  cried  Lord  Dermot,  interrupting,  "unless 
you  are  a  bridge'r.  Are  you  a  bridgdr?" 

As  soon  as  she  had  learnt  what  was  meant  by 
the  term,  Jeanne  assured  him  earnestly  that  she 
was  not;  and  with  a  bright  look  of  apology  at 
Denis — for  how  was  it  possible  to  refuse  the 
friend  of  Louis — she  went  off  with  Lord  Dermot, 
and  two  or  three  of  the  younger  members  of  the 
party,  to  be  initiated  into  the  mysteries  of  bil- 
liard fives. 

The  Duke  walked  to  the  piano  in  the  now 
brilliantly  lighted  hall,  and  began  to  improvise; 
and  a  young  lady  who  meant  to  marry  him  if 
she  could,  sat  within  his  view,  in  a  becoming 
attitude,  and  listened  with  rapt  attention. 

At  the  close  of  each  movement,  she  hoped 
he  would  leave  off  playing,  and  come  and  talk 


OF  GROSVENOR  SQUARE  279 

to  her;  but  it  invariably  glided  into  another, 
until  at  last  she  gave  up  in  despair  and  went  away ; 
not  daring  to  interrupt  him;  for  it  was  known 
that  to  be  interrupted  when  he  was  making 
music  was  the  one  thing  which  ruffled  the  Duke's 
even  temper. 

His  improvisations  ended  with  a  crash,  when 
Jeanne  returned  from  the  billiard-room,  with 
the  rest  of  the  players,  all  talking  and  laughing 
tumultuously. 

She  came  straight  to  the  piano,  with  flushed 
cheeks  and  brilliant  eyes,  smiling  and  joyous. 

"  Oh  Cousin  Denis,  it  was  so  delightful,  I  wish 
you  had  come,  we  had  such  fun. " 

"What  have  you  done  to  your  hand?" 

"It  is  only  a  little  bruise — "  she  held  out  a 
fair  arm  that  shone  through  its  veiling  of  white 
gauze,  and  showed  him  a  blue  mark  on  her  wrist ; 
"  Lord  Dermot  would  tie  a  handkerchief  round  it, 
but  it  is  nothing  at  all." 

Dermot  came  and  stood  beside  her,  towering 
over  her,  and  smiling  fatuously  as  he  pulled  at  the 
flaxen  down  which  shaded  his  upper  lip. 

"Billiard  fives  can  be  an  abominably  rough 
game.  You  should  have  taken  better  care  of 
her,"  said  Denis,  and  the  brothers'  glances  met 
over  Jeanne's  unconscious  bent  brown  head 
as  she  examined  her  bruise. 

The  one  pair  of  blue  eyes  was  angry;  the  other 
astonished. 


28o  THE  LONELY  LADY 

Dermot  noted  the  unusual  sternness  of  the 
Duke's  low  voice,  and  observed  the  pallor  of  his 
face;  and  suddenly  recalling  Jeanne's  innocent 
references  to  his  brother's  visits  in  Grosvenor 
Square — a  light  broke  in  upon  his  mind. 

"  It  does  n't  hurt  a  bit,  you  know,  "  said  Jeanne, 
looking  into  the  Duke's  face,  "  and  we  won,  which 
was  all  that  mattered. " 

The  Duchess  remarked  the  group  at  the  piano, 
as  she  presently  entered  the  hall,  (in  the  best  of 
spirits,  for  she  had  won  five  shillings  on  the 
evening)  and  she  smiled  her  most  agreeable  smile, 
as  the  work  of  distributing  the  flat  candles  began, 
distinguishing  Jeanne  with  especial  notice  as  the 
ladies  proceeded  to  mount  the  grand  staircase; 
and  bidding  her  good-night  at  her  own  door. 

"  It  has  all  gone  off  very  well,  indeed,  Dunham, " 
said  Jeanne,  greeting  the  old  woman,  who  awaited 
her  by  the  blazing  fire  in  her  own  room.  "And 
I  don't  think  I  ever  enjoyed  myself  so  much  in 
my  life." 

"I'm  sure  I  'm  very  glad  to  hear  it,  ma'am," 
said  Dunham,  affably,  "and  you  looked  very 
well,  Miss  Jane,  for  me  and  some  of  the  other 
maids  was  standing  up  there  in  the  dark  gallery, 
and  peeping  down  at  you  all  in  the  hall  when  you 
came  out  of  dinner." 

"  You  should  not  have  waited  up  for  me.  I 
could  have  managed  very  well  for  myself. ' ' 

"  I  hope  I  know  my  work  better  than  that  'm, 


OF  GROSVENOR  SQUARE  281 

though  returning  you  many  thanks  for  the  kind 
thought,"  said  Dunham.  But  her  tone  was  still 
more  deferential ;  for  had  she  not  heard  her  young 
lady  requested  to  look  upon  her  Grace  as  a  mother, 
and  was  it  for  her  to  be  finding  fault  with  a  pos- 
sible future  Duchess? 

What  had  seemed  like  rustic  ignorance  on  the 
part  of  Jeanne,  would  soon  appear  mere  gracious 
consideration  for  her  inferiors;  and  Dunham 
prepared  herself  to  regard  with  respectful  indul- 
gence the  eccentricities  of  one  who  had  found 
favour  in  the  eyes  of  a  Duke. 

In  the  meantime  Lord  Dermot  and  his  elder 
brother  found  space  and  opportunity  for  a  few 
words  together,  and  alone. 

"I  only  ask  for  fair  play,  Dermot.  If  you 
are  in  earnest,  you  have  as  much  right  as  I — 
if  not,  for  God's  sake,  let  her  alone,"  said  the 
Duke,  with  white  lips. 

"  The  poor  old  chap  must  be  balmy,  absolutely 
balmy, — to  go  on  like  this,  "  thought  his  astonished 
brother;  but  aloud  he  said,  in  much  the  same 
soothing  tones  he  would  have  adopted  towards 
a  lunatic. 

"  My  dear  old  fellow,  don't  be  an  ass.  I  never 
set  eyes  on  the  girl  before  in  the  whole  course 
of  my  existence.  I  ask  you,  is  it  likely?" 

"There  is  such  a  thing  as  love  at  first  sight," 
said  the  Duke,  sternly. 


282  THE  LONELY  LADY 

Dermot  dared  not  smile. 

"  To  be  sure  there  is, "  he  said,  good-humouredly. 
"But  I  solemnly  swear — " 

"Don't,"  said  the  Duke,  who  had  heard  many 
such  asseverations  on  other  subjects  from  the 
same  lips,  and  was  no  longer  impressed.  "I 
only  spoke  out  like  this,  Dermot, "  he  said  simply, 
"Because  it  appears  to  me  it  would  be  foolish 
to  throw  away  my  own  happiness,  and  perhaps — 
who  knows — (in  a  lower  tone)  hers,  for  want  of 
a  word  between  you  and  me,  who  have  always 
more  or  less  understood  each  other." 

"  It  would  be  simply  tommy-rot, "  said  Dermot, 
translating  the  Duke's  measured  words  into  the 
emphatic  language  best  understood  of  himself; 
and  he  helped  himself  with  emotion  to  his  third 
whiskey  and  soda  since  dinner. 

"I  don't  think  you  are  the  fellow  to  let  a  few 
days'  idle — I  hate  the  word — flirtation, — come 
between  you  and  me;  it  would  n't  be  worth  it," 
said  the  Duke.  "  But  she  's  very  young,  or  at 
least  she  's  very  inexperienced,  which  comes  to 
the  same  thing,  and — and — but  mind,  Dermot, 
I  'm  not  asking  any  kind  of  sacrifice  from  you, 
if — if  it 's  with  you  as  it  is  with  me.  In  that  case 
we  '11  shake  hands  over  it,  and  let  the  best  man 
win." 

"But  my  dear  old  chap,  it  is  n't,"  almost 
shouted  Dermot,  "  I  give  you  my  word,  such  an 
idea  never  even  entered  my  head.  I  '11  leave 


OF  GROSVENOR  SQUARE  283 

the  house  to-morrow  morning  if  you  wish,  with 
the  greatest  pleasure  in  life. " 

"No,  no—" 

"Well — anyway,  here  's  luck  to  your  wooing," 
said  Dermot  with  the  enthusiasm  born  of  whiskey. 
"Have  you  thought  what  our  parent  will  say 
when  she  gets  wind  of  it?" 

"  I  don't  mean  her  to  get  wind  of  it,  until  it 's 
settled  one  way  or  the  other. " 

"But  she  will — trust  her  for  nosing  it  out." 
(The  more  especially  if  you  give  yourself  away 
as  you  have  done  to-night,  thought  Dermot, 
but  this  to  himself.) 

"There  is  nothing  for  her  to  find  out.  Miss 
de  Courset  herself  has  no  suspicion  of  my  feelings, 
so  naturally  no  one  else  has, "  said  the  infatuated 
young  man,  innocently. 

"Well,  well,"  said  Dermot,  as  gravely  as  he 
could.  "  It 's  I  who  am  responsible  for  her  coming 
here;  so  it  is  I  who  will  be  blamed  if  the  match 
isn't  approved.  I'm  sure  I  don't  care.  Her 
Grace  can  say  very  little  to  me  that  she  has  n't 
said  before,  if  it  comes  to  that.  A  disreputable, 
idle,  extravagant,  thoughtless  spendthrift,  care- 
less of  the  best  interests  of  the  family,  etc. " 

"Dermot,"  said  his  brother,  nervously,  "I 
wish  you  would  not  speak  as  though  it  were  a 
certainty.  I  have  n't  even — asked  her,  yet.  And 
you  forget  that  my  personal  disadvantages — " 

"  Bosh, "  said  Dermot. 


284  THE  LONELY  LADY 

"  Let  me  tell  you  that  if  you  think  she  'd  marry 
me  for  any  reason  except — " 

Dermot  concealed  a  smile.  "Poor  Denis,"  he 
thought.  "I  suppose  they  're  always  like  that. 
However,  in  this  case,  perhaps  his  game  leg 
makes  him  extra  funky.  What  's  the  good  of 
all  this  shilly-shallying?  Still  if  by  any  chance 
she  did  take  it  into  her  head  to  refuse  him,  I 
believe  he  'd  go  clean  off  his  chump. " 

This  reflection  caused  him  to  ply  his  brother 
with  excellent  disinterested  counsel. 

"Look  here,  Denis, — "  he  said  gravely,  "I 
advise  you — and  you  know  I  've  had  lots  of  ex- 
perience in  these  matters,"  interpolated  the 
Lothario  of  twenty-four,  "I  advise  you  to  go 
straight  ahead  and — and  take  her  by  storm, 
don't  you  know.  There  ain't  any  reason  on 
earth  why  she  should  'nt  be  fond  of  you — "  he 
said  awkwardly,  "only — as  she  's  an  uncommonly 
pretty  girl — I  '11  be  hanged  if  she  is  n't—  '  he 
finished  the  whiskey  and  soda — "while  you  're 
thinking  about  it,  and  mooning  over  your  music 
and  all  that — some  other  fellow  will  cut  in,  and 
carry  her  off  under  your  very  nose,  if  you  don't 
take  care." 

"  I  was  always  a  bit  of  a  muff,  was  n't  I,  Der- 
mot?" said  the  Duke,  in  a  tone  of  somewhat  mel- 
ancholy raillery.  "  Not  the  sort  of  fellow  to  take 
anything  by  storm. " 

Perhaps   Dermot   in   his   heart   rather  agreed 


OF  GROSVENOR  SQUARE  285 

that  his  eldest  brother  was  a  bit  of  a  muff;  for 
he  was  not  sufficiently  cultivated  himself  to 
appreciate  the  cultivation  of  Denis,  and  occasion- 
ally mistook  the  gentleness  and  gravity  born  of 
suffering  and  solitude,  for  want  of  manliness. 

But  he  was  at  once  too  good-natured  and  too 
fond  of  Denis,  to  have  ever  given  utterance  to 
his  opinion;  and  he  had  no  idea  that  the  Duke 
had  divined  it. 

He  clapped  his  brother  encouragingly  upon 
the  shoulder,  and  expressed  both  his  sympathy 
and  his  affection  as  tersely  as  possible,  in 
the  emphatic  utterance  of  his  favourite  mono- 
syllable. 

"Rot." 


CHAPTER  XVII 
THE  TELEGRAM 

THERE  are  moments,  perhaps,  in  most  lives 
(but  such  periods  are  not  to  be  measured  by  the 
clock),  of  vague  but  perfect  happiness;  enjoyed 
almost  unconsciously  at  the  time,  yet  looked 
back  upon  afterwards  with  wonder  and  envy. 

Jeanne  did  not  pause  to  ask  herself  why  the 
days  at  Challonsleigh  were  so  much  happier  than 
any  other  days  her  life  had  ever  known ;  nor  why 
the  spring  season,  always  a  time  of  rejoicing, 
should  this  year  be  so  riotously  glad  as  to  fill 
her  heart  with  actual  ecstacy  as  she  walked  in 
the  sunshine,  beneath  a  cloudless  April  sky,  and 
gathered  the  scented  white  violets,  and  the  yellow 
daffodils  growing  by  thousands  in  the  fields. 

She  tried  her  hand  at  golf,  under  the  Duke's 
tuition;  and  being  blessed  with  the  luck  that 
usually  attends  beginners,  believed  that  she 
could  play  the  game  very  fairly;  she  was  driven 
to  the  meet,  in  the  Duke's  dog-cart,  and  with 
great  wonder  and  admiration  beheld  the  Duchess 
on  her  colossal  steed,  looking  as  trim  as  it  was 

possible  for  a  lady  weighing  fourteen  stone  to 

286 


THE  LONELY  LADY  287 

look,  in  her  close-fitting  habit;  she  sat  with  the 
Duke,  in  the  new  tennis-court,  and  watched 
vigorous  encounters  between  Dermot  and  Brian, 
evenly  matched  in  the  royal  game,  equally  tall, 
active,  and  muscular;  and  she  wondered  that 
Cousin  Denis  could  be  so  keenly  and  breathlessly 
interested  as  a  mere  looker-on. 

She  marvelled  at  the  luxury  of  the  stables, 
the  number  of  the  horses,  the  extensiveness  of  the 
kennels,  and  the  perfection  of  the  model  farms 
on  the  estate,  which  appealed  strongly  to  her  own 
orderly  instincts  and  practical  experience. 

The  Duchess  was  fond  of  an  outdoor  life. 
When  she  was  at  home  in  the  country  she  dis- 
carded her  fine  clothes,  her  curled  white  front, 
and  her  long  handled  glasses ;  and  tramped  about 
the  grounds  in  all  weathers,  wearing  a  short 
tweed  skirt,  a  billycock  perched  on  her  own  grey 
hair,  and  a  pair  of  spectacles  which  enabled  her 
to  see  where  she  was  going. 

She  carried  always  a  stout  walking  stick,  and 
was  generally  followed  by  half  a  dozen  dogs  besides 
her  favourite  boarhounds.  She  visited  cottages, 
inspected  the  home  farm,  and  examined  the 
timber  with  untiring  interest  and  energy. 

But  it  was  new  to  her  to  find  a  female'  com- 
panion who  was  as  tireless  as  herself  and  a  great 
deal  more  active,  and  who  had  an  even  more 
practical  knowledge  of  subjects  connected  with 
stock,  cider-making,  and  dairy-work. 


288  THE  LONELY  LADY 

She  found  fault  (in  her  usual  candid  manner) 
with  Jeanne's  too  elegant  walking  attire,  and  pre- 
sented one  of  her  own  tweed  skirts  to  her  visitor 
(to  Dunham's  horror)  which  Jeanne  gratefully  ac- 
cepted, as  she  did  all  the  advice  bestowed  upon 
her  by  the  Duchess,  who  was  highly  delighted  by 
such  docility. 

Her  fear  of  the  Duchess  vanished  during  the 
expeditions  she  made  with  her ;  tramping  up 
steep,  red,  muddy  roads,  through  coppices  car- 
peted with  primroses,  down  narrow  stony  lanes, 
and  over  springing  mossy  turf, — they  became 
very  nearly  intimate. 

The  Duchess,  to  be  sure,  monopolized  the 
chief  part  of  the  conversation,  but  the  country 
was  hilly,  and  the  great  lady  was  stout;  going 
up-hill  Jeanne  had  it  all  her  own  way. 

Thus  her  Grace  learnt  the  history  of  the  French 
pedigree  (which  bored  her  excessively),  and 
incidentally,  the  generous  intentions  of  Louis: 
which  she  took  breath  to  assure  Jeanne  (panting) 
were  exactly  what  every  one  in  the  world  would 
expect  of  him,  and  which  could  not  consequently 
be  thwarted;  and  this  latter  information  inter- 
ested her  so  much  that  she  redoubled  her  kindness 
to  her  visitor,  and  pressed  her  to  prolong  her 
stay. 

Habit  doubtless  inures  human  beings  to  all 
kinds  of  changes ;  but  more  swiftly  to  surroundings 
of  luxury  than  of  hardship.  Jeanne  soon  learnt 


OF  GROSVENOR  SQUARE  289 

to  go  in  to  dinner  without  trembling;  and  to 
order  her  own  breakfast  quite  fearlessly  every 
morning,  from  the  menu  handed  to  her  as  she 
entered  the  great  dining-room,  where  every 
guest  who  breakfasted  downstairs  had  his  or  her 
separate  service,  and  special  dish  to  order. 

She  retracted  her  hasty  judgment  of  the  bad 
management  of  large  establishments,  as  she  gained 
experience  in  the  excellence  of  cuisine,  and  the 
perfect  attention  of  the  noiseless  and  well-trained 
servants. 

Her  simplicity  saved  her  from  the  mortifica- 
tions and  difficulties  that  might  have  beset  a 
lonely  lady  with  a  little  more  knowledge  of  the 
world,  who  found  herself  suddenly  included  in 
a  large  and  fashionable  party  assembled  for 
Easter  in  a  country  house. 

But  allusions  that  such  a  one  might  be  striving 
to  follow  and  understand — passed  over  her  head 
with  perfect  innocuousness ;  and  here  ignorance 
was  bliss  indeed.  It  did  not  concern  her  for  a 
moment  that  she  could  not  join  in  the  conversation 
when  it  turned  on  racing,  as  it  often  did,  or  on 
bridge,  or  on  motoring,  or  the  latest  doings  of 
the  best  known  people  in  the  land. 

She  knew  as  much  about  politics  as  about  polo, 
and  was  perfectly  contented  to  sit  in  her  corner 
and  listen,  whilst  others  talked;  or  to  withdraw 
her  mind  altogether  from  her  surroundings,  and 
dream  of  Louis. 
19 


29o  THE  LONELY  LADY 

Her  modesty  attracted  the  men  of  the  party, 
and  mollified  the  women;  had  the  Duke  and  his 
mother  monopolised  her  less,  she  might  have 
made  many  friends. 

As  it  was  she  saw  the  departure  of  most  of  the 
Easter  guests,  without  any  particular  feelings  of 
regret;  and  rather  rejoiced  at  the  diminished 
numbers  of  the  party,  which  led  to  a  certain 
increase  of  intimacy  among  those  who  remained. 

Lord  Dermot  had  turned  his  attentions  (always 
inclined  to  be  exclusive)  to  the  young  lady  who 
had  intended  if  she  could  to  marry  the  Duke ;  and 
as  she  prudently  reflected  that  after  all,  the 
younger  brother  would  be  the  richer  man  of 
the  two,  she  met  his  advances,  as  it  seemed  to 
the  onlookers,  rather  more  than  half  way ;  which 
resulted  in  a  flirtation  so  very  ardent  and  conspic- 
uous that  the  Duchess  hailed  the  return  of  her  sec- 
ond son  to  his  duties  at  Windsor  with  great  relief. 

Their  devotion  was  so  exaggerated  that  it 
excited  open  smiles,  and  Jeanne  overhearing 
fragments  of  a  conversation  between  two  ladies 
who  were  intimate  with  one  another,  could  not 
be  ignorant  of  the  subject  to  which  they  alluded. 

"Will  it  come  to  anything,  do  you  think?" 

"Good  heavens,  no.  He  never  stays  in  the 
same  house  a  week  without  almost  becoming 
engaged." 

"  He  only  just  fled  in  time,  then.  I  never  saw 
any  one  so  determined  as  she. " 


OF  GROSVENOR  SQUARE  291 

"She  has  met  her  match,"  said  the  first  lady, 
shaking  her  head.  "He  will  disappear  to 
shoot  lions  or  something — worst  come  to  the 
worst. " 

"They  generally  go  to  the  Rocky  Mountains 
in  cases  of  extremity, "  said  the  other. 

Jeanne  listened  with  indignation;  but  it  was 
being  gradually  borne  in  upon  her  simple  mind 
that  size,  strength,  and  comeliness  of  person,  are 
not  the  only  desirable  qualities  in  mankind;  and 
that  the  Duke  suffered  less  than  she  could  have 
supposed  possible,  by  comparison  with  his 
brothers. 

Lord  Dermot, — loud  and  cheerful,  ruddy  and 
healthful,  was  obviously,  to  the  merest  looker- 
on,  careless  of  everything  in  the  world  but  his 
own  pleasure;  lustily  ready  to  hunt,  to  shoot,  or 
to  make  love,  with  equal  zest;  and  young  as  he 
was,  already  dependent  on  constant  fillips  of 
whiskey. 

Lord  Brian,  with  an  equally  fine  physique, 
and  the  same  Saxon  fairness,  was  at  once  heavier 
of  build,  and  duller  of  intellect  than  his  elder; 
and  appeared  to  exist  for  the  sole  purpose  of 
getting  from  one  place  to  another  as  quickly  as 
he  possibly  could;  for  he  dreamt,  thought,  and 
spoke  of  nothing  but  motoring. 

"  But  at  least  they  are  brave, "  thought  Jeanne, 
wistfully,  "for  they  both  went  to  South  Africa 
to  fight  for  their  country, "  but  she  could  not  help 


292  THE  LONELY  LADY 

feeling  that  when  she  had  said  that,  she  had 
said  all. 

She  blushed  at  the  memory  of  her  earlier 
feelings  for  Cousin  Denis;  of  her  kindly  pity, 
not  unmixed  with  contempt,  for  his  inferiority 
in  appearance  and  strength  to  her  idolised 
brother. 

Was  it  possible  that  the  difference  of  the  setting 
in  which  she  now  beheld  him,  had  helped  to  in- 
crease her  respect  for  the  Duke,  so  that  she  now 
regarded  him  with  something  very  like  reverence, 
mingled  with  her  cousinly  affection? 

Jeanne  blushed  again,  and  with  shame,  at  the 
very  suspicion. 

Yet  human  nature  is  undeniably  subject  to 
the  influence  of  surroundings. 

The  quiet,  lame  young  man,  whose  fair  com- 
plexion was  liable  to  such  unfortunate  variations 
of  colour, — whose  unassuming  manners  had  caused 
her  to  forget  her  natural  timidity, — and  who 
never  asserted  his  own  opinions,  nor  contradicted 
those  of  other  people,  nor  expressed  strong  likes 
and  dislikes — had  seemed  to  Jeanne,  (accustomed 
to  the  more  vigorous,  or  less  well-governed, 
personality  of  Louis) — a  very  ordinary  individual 
indeed.  But  the  Duke,  seated  at  the  head  of 
that  great  banqueting  table,  with  its  double 
row  of  well-bred,  well-dressed  guests,  and  its 
burden  of  hothouse  blossoms  and  gold  plate 
and  wax  lights — the  Duke,  limping  through  the 


OF  GROSVENOR  SQUARE  293 

spacions  hall,  giving  quiet  orders  in  his  low  voice, 
to  bowing  and  deferential  servants  of  twice  his 
own  size,  as  a  matter  of  course — the  Duke  riding 
through  the  deer  park  on  his  splendid  chestnut 
horse — in  short,  the  Duke  at  home,  the  head  of  a 
great  house,  and  treated  universally  with  respect 
as  well  as  affection  by  those  who  had  known  him 
from  childhood, — could  no  longer  be  regarded  by 
a  little  country  maiden  as  such  a  very  unimportant 
young  man,  his  lameness  and  his  delicacy  not- 
withstanding; and  perhaps  Jeanne  would  hardly 
have  been  human  had  she  not  come  to  look  upon 
him  in  a  totally  new  light. 

"High,  or  low,  indoors  or  out,  there  's  not  a 
living  soul  but  has  a  good  word  for  him,"  re- 
ported Dunham,  thus  doubtless  summarising 
the  information  she  had  been  able  to  glean  in 
the  Room.  "He  's  spent  the  most  of  his  money, 
they  say,  on  his  poor  Irish  tenants;  but  yet  he 
always  seems  to  have  a  somthing  to  spare.  'T  was 
he  as  come  to  the  Vicar's  help  here,  with  the 
working  man's  club,  as  her  Grace  would  n't  put 
her  hand  in  her  pocket  for;  and  he  has  built  the 
tennis-court  for  his  brothers.  And  nobody  they 
says,  from  his  childhood  up — has  ever  heard  a 
rough  word  from  him,  for  all  he  suffered  from 
his  poor  back  and  her  Grace's  tantrums. " 

The  Duchess,  although  in  no  way  gifted  by 
any  especial  quickness  of  perception,  was  yet, 
being  a  woman  and  a  mother,  enabled  to  divine 


294  THE  LONELY  LADY 

the  sentiments  with  which  Denis  regarded  her 
young  visitor,  before  Jeanne  had  been  twenty- 
four  hours  under  her  roof. 

Only  her  real  anxiety  to  see  her  eldest  son 
married,  could  have  kept  her  nimble  tongue 
from  allusion  to  the  subject;  but  though  a  great 
talker,  she  could  be  silent  when  her  own  interests 
or  her  children's  were  at  stake;  and  she  perceived 
Jeanne's  unconsciousness  with  something  like 
awe,  realising  the  simplicity  which  it  denoted. 

The  Duchess  knew  very  well  that  the  uncon- 
sciousness was  real  and  not  assumed ;  no  woman 
can  be  deceived  on  such  a  point  by  another;  and 
she  felt  almost  a  maternal  tenderness  towards 
the  girl  as  she  realised  it. 

"I  have  always  wished  for  a  daughter,"  she 
thought,  "and  here,  for  a  wonder,  is  one  that 
would  suit  me  down  to  the  ground.  No  modern, 
anaemic  young  woman,  all  nerves  and  excite- 
ment, but  a  nice,  quiet,  gentle  creature,  come  of 
a  healthy  agricultural  stock;  with  an  historic 
name,  as  it  appears,  into  the  bargain ;  and  best 
of  all,  the  prospect  of  a  really  suitable  marriage 
dot. " 

For  Mr.  Valentine  had  told  Dunham,  and 
Dunham  had  told  her  Grace's  maid,  who  had 
in  turn  informed  the  Duchess,  of  Captain  de 
Courset's  openly  declared  intention  of  sharing 
his  unexpected  inheritance,  with  his  twin  sister. 

No  doubt,   thought   her  Grace,   he  would  be 


OF  GROSVENOR  SQUARE  295 

advised  to  do  nothing  quite  so  quixotic  when 
the  time  came ;  but  her  favourite  enquiry  of  How 
much?  in  the  right  quarters,  had  elicited  the 
gratifying  information  that  the  late  Miss  Marney's 
gross  estate  had  been  valued  at  three  hundred 
and  sixty  thousand  pounds. 

It  would  go  hard  with  her  if  Jeanne's  portion, 
from  a  young  and  generous  brother, — who  had 
never  before  owned  a  penny  in  his  life,  and  who 
practically  owed  his  inheritance  to  his  sister, — 
should  be  less  than  a  hundred  thousand  pounds; 
perhaps  even  more,  when  young  de  Courset  realised 
the  magnificence  of  the  match  Jeanne  would  be 
making. 

"  I  should  be  quite  satisfied  with  that/ '  thought 
the  Duchess,  surprised  at  her  own  moderation, 
"quite — because  she  is  so  exactly  the  kind  of 
girl  I  prefer,  and  never  hoped  to  find,  for  Denis. 
Why  can't  he  make  haste  and  propose  to  her? 
Thank  heaven  Dermot  did  not  take  one  of  his 
fancies  to  her;  no  young  woman  would  look  at 
Denis  beside  Dermot, "  the  Duchess  was  troubled 
with  no  illusions  concerning  the  superiority  of 
mind  over  muscle  in  feminine  eyes.  "She  shall 
not  stir  from  here  until  it  is  all  settled. " 

But  fate  was  too  strong  for  the  Duchess. 

Jeanne's  visit  had  lasted  ten  days,  (for  she 
had  needed  but  little  pressing  to  prolong  it), 
and  she  had  spent  a  happy  morning  wandering 
in  the  old  walled  kitchen  gardens,  with  Denis; 


296  THE  LONELY  LADY 

for  the  Duchess,  who  usually  claimed  her  company 
at  that  time,  had  some  arrears  of  letter-writing 
to  occupy  her,  and  was  busy  with  her  secretary. 

It  was  a  typical  April  day ;  light  showers  alter- 
nating with  brightest  sunshine,  and  the  breath 
of  spring  flowers  scenting  the  mild  air. 

They  walked  past  beds  of  wallflowers,  pale 
yellow  and  copper  colour,  and  deep  velvet  red; 
and  of  blue  forget-me-nots  bordered  with  stiff 
little  red  daisies;  below  sunny  red  walls  where 
the  blossoming  peach  trees  were  nailed  fan-wise; 
through  alleys  of  standard  pears  and  plums,  and 
cherry  trees  white  with  bloom. 

Against  a  high  north  wall,  the  camellias  flour- 
ished hardily,  bearing  their  burden  of  waxen 
flowers  in  profusion,  as  though  the  outdoor  climate 
of  the  West  Country  were  more  congenial  to 
them  than  the  hothouses  of  the  North.  Above 
the  wall  rose  the  delicate  spires  of  the  young 
larch  plantations  newly  green ;  and  horse-chestnuts 
just  uncrumpling  downy  leaves,  the  cuckoo's 
call  sounded  far  and  near. 

"I  should  think  you  must  be  fonder  of  this 
place  than  of  anything  in  the  world,  "  said  Jeanne. 

"No;  for  it  is  not  my  home.  Cuilmore  is  far 
dearer  to  me,  solitary  as  it  is.  It  is  much  wilder 
and  more  beautiful  than  this,  though  alas,  so 
much  less  prosperous  and  orderly. " 

"Can  you  not  work  at  it — to  make  it  grow 
prosperous  and  orderly?" 


OF  GROSVENOR  SQUARE  297 

"It  is  the  wish  of  my  heart,"  he  said — "If  it 
could  be  done. " 

"When  shall  you  go  back?"  asked  Jeanne, 
simply. 

"Very  soon — it  depends." 

They  took  refuge  in  a  greenhouse  from  a  passing 
shower. 

Jeanne  stood  beside  a  bank  of  arums  and 
spirea  and  Madonna  lilies,  which  rose  among  the 
palms  above  the  lower  tier,  whereon  brightly 
coloured  hyacinths  and  gay  tulips  were  ranged 
in  long  rows.  A  light  green  climber  covered  the 
roof,  and  dangled  delicate  tendrils  above  their 
heads;  the  rain  pattered  upon  the  glass,  and 
splashed  through  the  open  doorway;  and  the 
Duke  half  closed  the  door. 

They  had  been  together  and  alone,  very  often ; 
but  never  quite  like  this;  shut  into  this  narrow 
glass  kingdom  of  colour  and  sweet  scent,  in  a 
twilight  of  green  foliage,  and  falling  rain;  a 
sudden  consciousness  touched  both  man  and 
maiden,  with  that  unpremeditated  little  action 
of  the  Duke's — in  closing  the  door,  as  it  were, 
upon  the  outer  world;  and  although  they  were 
standing  in  such  close  proximity  that  the  white 
cloth  gown  was  almost  touching  the  grey  tweed 
coat,  yet  neither  glanced  towards  the  other. 

The  rain  ceased  as  suddenly  as  it  began; 
glistening  silver  drops  fell  from  the  cornice  to 
the  stone  pavement  of  the  entry,  whilst  the  sun 


298  THE  LONELY  LADY 

serenely  conquered  the  last  of  the  purple  clouds, 
and  shone  forth  with  renewed  splendour. 

The  Duke  looked  at  Jeanne's  bright  face, 
which  reflected  the  glory  of  the  sunlight  in  the 
clear  transparent  red  of  her  cheeks,  and  in  her 
dazzled  brown  eyes — and  said  to  himself,  with 
new  born  hopefulness — 

"  Not  yet — but  very  soon. " 

For  as  she  had  passed  from  shyness  to  perfect 
confidence  in  his  presence,  so  he  was  conscious 
now  that  her  shyness  of  him  was  returning  once 
more. 

Almost  it  seemed  as  though  she  were  beginning, 
at  last,  to  understand. 

Jeanne  blushed  as  she  met  that  half  tender, 
half  mirthful  look  in  his  blue  eyes,  and  said 
hurriedly,  "It  has  stopped  raining,  let  us  go 
home  now,"  without  knowing  why;  and  indeed 
scarcely  knowing  what  she  said. 

But  as  they  went  their  way  home  over  the 
wet  paths,  wherein  the  sun  reflected  itself  from 
a  thousand  miniature  lakes  and  gleaming  pebbles 
— the  song  of  the  birds  sounded  as  no  concert  of 
the  woods  had  ever  sounded  in  Jeanne's  ears 
before,  and  evoked  joyful  echoes  in  her  very  heart. 

They  walked  in  silence;  and  in  silence  parted 
in  the  great  hall;  thus  affording  a  happy  illustra- 
tion of  the  proverbial  blindness  of  love;  for  by 
this  time  Jeanne  was  perhaps  the  only  woman  in 
Challonsleigh  who  did  not  know  that  she  was 


OF  GROSVENOR  SQUARE  299 

the  probable  future  Duchess  of  Monaghan;  and 
Denis  the  only  man  who  had  any  doubt  as  to 
what  her  answer  would  be,  when  he  should 
actually  utter  the  proposal  which  had  so  often 
trembled  upon  his  lips. 

Both  were  content,  for  the  moment,  with  that 
vaguely  blissful  condition  which  precedes  the 
declaration  of  first  love,  and  seldom  altogether 
survives  it.  So  that  instead  of  coming  to  an 
immediate  understanding  with  his  companion, 
the  Duke  sought  the  privacy  of  his  study,  whilst 
Jeanne  flew  up-stairs  to  her  own  room,  that  she 
too,  might  be  alone  with  her  happy  thoughts,  and 
her  budding  hopes,  and  the  bewildering  tumult 
of  her  suddenly  awakened  heart. 

She  did  not  know,  as  she  entered  her  pleasant 
room,  with  the  gladness  of  the  spring  in  her  hur- 
rying pulses,  and  the  brightness  of  the  April  sun- 
shine still  dazzling  her  brown  eyes,  that  she  was 
leaving  her  youth  upon  the  threshold — and  shut- 
ting the  door  upon  it,  for  ever. 

She  crossed  the  room,  humming  a  song,  but  her 
song  died  on  her  lips  as  she  took  up  a  telegram 
which  lay  conspicuously  upon  the  dressing  table. 

O.  H.  M.  5. 

Deeply  regret.  .  .  .  telegram  received  from  Bo- 
hotle  reports  your  brother  Captain  Louis  de  C  our  set 
.  .  .  missing.  Without  doubt  kitted  in  action. 
MILITARY  SECRETARY. 


300  THE  LONELY  LADY 

Dunham  entered  from  the  communicating 
room  and  found  Jeanne  standing  still  with  the 
telegram  in  her  hand. 

"It  came  an  hour  ago,"  said  the  maid,  "and 
I  brought  it  up  here  for  you,  thinking  it  might 
be  important." 

" — Louis  is  dead,"  said  Jeanne. 

She  did  not  faint  nor  scream,  only  looked  at 
Dunham;  and  presently  sat  down  in  the  arm- 
chair, feeling  a  little  sick. 

She  heard  Dunham  asking  somebody  at  the 
door  for  brandy,  and  thought  she  laughed  in  the 
old  woman's  face  when  she  returned;  but  it  was 
only  a  pitiful  ashy  smile  that  Jeanne  gave.  How 
could  brandy  possibly  help  her?  Yet  when 
she  had  obediently  swallowed  the  mixture  Dun- 
ham put  authoritatively  to  her  lips,  she  found 
that  it  helped  her. 

Her  knees  ceased  to  shake,  and  the  mists 
cleared  away,  and  she  understood  that  the  tele- 
gram was  a  reality. 

"I  know  now  why  poor  people  take  to  drink 
when  they  are  miserable,"  she  said  suddenly  to 
Dunham.  "You  get  strong,  and  you  understand. 
But  it  all  seems  a  long  way  off,  and  as  if  it  did  n't 
really  matter. " 

Dunham  was  shocked  when  Jeanne  said  this, 
describing  what  she  really  felt,  instead  of  what 
she  ought  to  have  felt. 


OF  GROSVENOR  SQUARE  301 

But  the  effect  that  she  described  was  so  mo- 
mentary, that  it  was  barely  worth  describing 
at  all. 

"I  must  write  to  Uncle  Roberts  at  once,"  she 
said,  and  went  to  the  writing  table. 

Dunham  stood  watching  her;  not  knowing 
what  to  do,  but  very  sure  that  somebody  must 
be  written  to  at  once,  and  relieved  that  her  young 
lady  should  be  able  to  do  it. 

Jeanne  took  one  of  the  strawberry-crowned 
sheets  of  note  paper,  and  began  her  letter. 

"Dear  Uncle  Roberts, 

"  I  am  sorry  to  tell  you  that  Louis  is  dead — " 

the  written  words  looked  to  her  so  absurd  that 
she  laughed  aloud,  and  Dunham  became  alarmed 
for  her  reason. 

"You  had  better  send  a  telegram,  ma 'am- 
or let  me — and  perhaps  your  good  uncle  would 
come  to  you,  Miss  Jane,  for  we  must  go  home 
at  once,"  said  the  poor  old  woman,  and  she 
suddenly  broke  down  herself,  and  began  to  cry 
pitifully. 

"Do  not  cry,  Mrs.  Dunham.  What  are  you 
crying  for?"  said  Jeanne,  jealously.  "He  was 
nothing  to  you. " 


"  For  gold  the  merchant  ploughs  the  main, 
The  farmer  ploughs  the  manor. 
But  glory  is  the  soldier's  prize, 
The  soldier's  wealth  is  honour." 

BURNS. 

UNCLE  ROBERTS  sat  in  one  of  the  gilt  and  brocaded 
Louis  Seize  chairs  of  the  morning-room  at  99 
Grosvenor  Square;  with  his  hands  crossed  upon 
the  knob  of  the  market  umbrella  he  held  between 
his  knees.  He  wore  his  rusty  old  great-coat,  which 
he  had  refused  to  leave  in  the  hall,  despite  Hewitt's 
anxious  persuasions ;  and  he  had  put  down  his  old 
round  hat  upon  the  delicate  blue  cover  of  the 
Book  of  Beauty. 

He  was  in  a  state  of  agitation  indescribable; 
and  Jeanne  forgot  her  astonishment  at  seeing 
him  in  London  at  all, — in  her  awe  at  beholding  a 
man  who  was  usually  so  stolid  and  immovable 
thus  beside  himself. 

His  light  blue  eyes  stared  at  her  miserably 
from  the  forest  of  red-grey  hair  which  surrounded 
his  weather-beaten  face ;  the  wretchedness  of  his 

302 


THE  LONELY  LADY  303 

look  and  of  his  tones  appalled  her  in  the  midst 
of  her  sorrow;  his  tears — the  rare  and  difficult 
tears  of  a  man  who  has  not  wept  since  childhood, 
filled  her  with  reverence  as  with  pity. 

"I  been  to  the  War  Office.  I  done  what  I 
could,"  said  Uncle  Roberts,  trembling,  and  un- 
conscious of  the  drops  that  we're  falling  over  the 
unkempt  beard  and  whiskers  that  Louis  and 
Jeanne  had  so  often  deplored  to  each  other.  "  You 
seen  the  papers  this  morning?" 

"  Yes,  I  have  seen  the  papers. " 

"They  could  tell  no  more  than  was  written  on 
the  papers.  It  seems  there  ain't  no  hope  of 
seeing  him  no  more  in  this  world.  They  sent  'un 
on  a  wild-goose  chase  and  killed  'un.  And  all 
for  nothing." 

"Uncle,  oh  Uncle!  You  must  not  talk  like 
that.  It  makes  it  so  much  harder.  He  was 
doing  his  duty.  You  always  say  a  man  can  do 
no  more,"  she  cried  in  anguish.  "He  has  laid 
down  his  life  for  his  King  and  country,  as — as 
his  father  did  before  him. " 

But  her  efforts  died  away  into  choking  sobs. 

"And  he  was  only  twenty-five,  and  all  his  life 
before  him,"  said  Jeanne,  and  she  sank  on  her 
knees  and  wept  as  she  had  not  yet  been  able  to 
weep;  for  the  familiar  presence  of  Uncle  Roberts 
brought  back  to  her  the  memory  of  Louis  at 
home — on  the  farm — and  opened  the  fountains 
of  her  tears. 


3o4  THE  LONELY  LADY 

The  sight  of  her  agony  did  more  to  restore  the 
old  man's  self-control  than  all  her  attempts  at 
consolation. 

He  stretched  his  arm  out,  and  laid  his  rough 
hand  not  ungently  for  a  moment  on  the  brown 
head.  Then  he  rose,  pulled  himself  together, 
and  walking  to  the  window,  blew  a  trumpet  blast 
into  his  red  cotton  handkerchief. 

The  storm  of  Jeanne's  weeping  passed,  and 
she  too,  controlled  herself,  and  smoothed  her 
hair  about  her  little  ears,  and  confronted  her 
uncle,  with  pale  face,  and  dimmed  and  sunken 
eyes. 

A  dozen  newspapers  were  scattered  about  the 
room;  each  had  been  scanned  in  desperate  hopes 
of  some  fresh  item,  some  hint  of  a  possibility  that 
the  disaster  was  not  final — that  those  who  were 
missing  might  yet  be  recovered. 

But  the  same  heading — dreadful  in  certainty 
— the  same  clear  and  appalling  details  were 
reported  in  all. 

SOMALILAND  DISASTER 
Ten  Officers  and  174  men  killed 

and  here  was  the  list,  and  the  name  of  Louis  de 
Courset  in  black  and  white;  and  among  the 
other  brief  pathetic  paragraphs,  was  the  one  which 
summed  up  the  history  of  his  short  life,  so  far 
as  it  concerned  his  country. 


OF  GROSVENOR  SQUARE  305 

"Captain  Louis  de  C our  set  had  served  on  the 
Indian  frontier  and  during  the  Boer  War.  For  his 
services  in  South  Africa  he  was  twice  mentioned 
in  dispatches,  and  received  the  D.S.O.  He  was 
in  his  twenty-sixth  year. " 

All  the  rest — for  Jeanne — was  summed  up 
in  that  portion  of  the  main  telegram  which  was 
headed :  All  died  fighting. 

" .    .    .    kept  back  enemy1 's  forces  until  no  more 
Ammunition.    .    .    .    at   last   enemy's   forces   over- 
whelmed square  and  annihilated  all  with  exception 
°f  37  fugitive  Yaos." 

"What  are  you  going  to  do?"  said  Uncle 
Roberts. 

"There  is  nothing  to  be  done.  I  have  been 
waiting,  and  waiting,  and  waiting — for  him — 
all  this  time,  and  it  was  for  nothing. " 

This  was  indeed  the  feeling  of  the  whole  house- 
hold. 

A  dreariness  indescribable  had  descended  upon 
them.  Nothing  had  been  settled  since  their  old 
lady's  death.  They  had  all  been  waiting,  with 
Jeanne,  for  the  return  of  the  heir.  And  now 
he  would  never  come. 

"Will  you  come  home?"  said  Uncle  Roberts. 

She  shook  her  head. 

"No,  no.  There  might  be — oh  Uncle,  I  am 
praying  day  and  night  there  may  be — some 


306  THE  LONELY  LADY 

more  letters.  The  last  had  no  messages — nothing 
special.  But  perhaps  later — he  may  have  written 
just  before  the — the  disaster — with  some  pre- 
sentiment. " 

But  this  was  a  flight  beyond  Uncle  Roberts's 
powers  of  imagination. 

"What  good  can  lette'rs  do  now?"  His  head 
sunk  on  to  his  chest.  "  I  never  thought  to  outlive 
the  lad, "  he  said  almost  angrily. 

Then  as  though  the  words  led  him  into  another 
train  of  thought,  he  asked  suspiciously, 

"Has  that  lawyer  chap  been  nigh  the  place 
yet?" 

"Hewitt  went  round  to  Mr.  Valentine — Dun- 
ham said  he  must — directly  we  came  home," 
said  Jeanne.  "But  he  has  not  returned  from 
his  Easter  holidays  yet.  He  is  in  Switzerland. 
Some  one  else  came  round  from  the-  office,  but  I 
said  I  would  see  no  one  till  Mr.  Valentine  came 
home.  He  is  very  kind  and  he  knows  about 
everything.  He  will  tell  me  what  to  do. " 

Uncle  Roberts  looked  uneasy. 

"I  've  no  faith  in  lawyers;  nor  yet  I  ain't  no 
match  for  them.  Still — I  don't  like  to  leave  a 
bit  of  a  girl  like  you,  to  fight  them  all  alone," 
he  said,  in  troubled  tones. 

"There  will  be  no  fighting,"  said  Jeanne, 
with  a  wan  smile.  "  Aunt  Caroline  trusted  him.  " 

"Ay,  I  daresay,"  rather  contemptuously. 

Jeanne  sought  for  an   argument   more   likely 


OF  GROSVENOR  SQUARE  307 

to  convince  her  uncle  of  Mr.  Valentine's  probity. 

"  Louis — had  heard  all  about  him  from  a  brother 
officer.  He  wrote  that  he  trusted  him,  too. " 

"Did  he?  The  lad  had  a  good  head,"  said 
Uncle  Roberts,  and  his  brow  cleared.  "I  '11 
warrant  he  would  n't  say  so  without  cause". " 

"If  there  were — any  difficulties — there  is  my 
Cousin  Denis,"  said  Jeanne,  wearily.  "  He  brought 
Dunham  and  me  home  last  night.  We  were  stay- 
ing, as  I  wrote  you,  with  his  mother. " 

"Ay;  the  letter  was  a  bit  long,  but  I  read 
it  all  through.  I  don't  hold  with  dukes  and 
duchesses,"  said  Uncle  Roberts,  gruffly,  "but  if 
they  're  relations,  you  're  very  right  to  be  civil  to 
them.  Blood  's  thicker  than  water.  When  you  're 
tired  of  'em  all  you  can  come  back  home. "  No 
doubts  assailed  his  honest  mind  but  that  Coed- 
Ithel  must  always  be  home  to  little5  Jeanne.  "  If 
they  can  be  of  use  to  you,  so  much  the  better. 
I  doubt  you  '11  be  cheated  out  of  all  this  fine 
fortune  the  poor  lad  was  to  have  got,"  he  said, 
heavily.  "  'T  will  be  nought  but  a  burden  upon  a 
bit  of  a  girl  like  you. " 

"Do  you  mean  that — that  it  is  me  it — all 
belongs  to  now,"  said  Jeanne,  "I  never  thought 
of  that." 

"Who  else — 't  was  left  to  him  outright." 

"How  shall  I  know  what  he  would  wish  me 
to  do  with  it — "  said  Jeanne  weeping;  then  her 
face  was  suddenly  illumined.  "Oh,  how  could 


3o8  THE  LONELY  LADY 

I  have  forgotten.  He  said — there  was  a  letter 
which  he  sent  to  the  Bank  long  ago,  with  his 
Insurance  policy.  I  was  to  read  it  only  if  some- 
thing happened.  Mr.  Valentine  has  it  now. 
That  will  tell  me  what  he  wishes — but  no — no — 
it  can't,  for  it  was  written  long  before  poor  Aunt 
Caroline  died.  It  will  not  help  me — but  at  least, 
at  least,  I  shall  see  his  dear  writing  once  more. " 

"  Did  the  lad  insure  his  life? " 

"Long  ago,  that  the  debts  he  left  behind  him 
might  be  honourably  paid, "  said  Jeanne,  proudly, 
"and  oh — Uncle,  I  may  tell  you  now,  he  said  I 
was  to  get  the  best  horse  that  money  could  buy 
for  you  besides.  He  wanted  to  show  you  how 
grateful  he  was  for  all  you  'd  done  for  him.  Oh, 
Louis,  Louis,  you  left  nothing  undone,  ever  in  all 
your  life,  that  you  could  think  of — " 

"I  don't  want  no  horse,"  said  Uncle  Roberts; 
but  he  cried  as  he  said  it.  "What  did  he  want 
with  debts?  Could  n't  he  a'  wrote  to  me  if  he 
was  n't  able  to  pay  his  way  as  he  went  along? " 

"Oh,  Uncle,  was  Louis  one  to  ask — ?" 

"  If  I  kep'  him  short,  't  was  for  his  good.  I  was 
brought  up  to  believe  a  man  should  earn  his 
bread — "  said  Uncle  Roberts,  and  his  voice  shook. 
"God  knows  I  grudged  him  nought." 

"You  did  everything  for  him,"  cried  Jeanne, 
and  she  came  and  knelt  beside  her  uncle,  and 
laid  her  wet  cheek  against  his  beard.  "You 
gave  him  his  start  in  life,  as  a  kinsman  should — 


OF  GROSVENOR  SQUARE  309 

do  you  think  we  would  either  of  us  forget  it? — 
and  after  that — what  shame  is  there  in  honourable 
poverty  for  a  soldier?  But  it  would  have  been 
shame  for  an  officer  and  a  gentleman  to  take 
your  hard-earned  money  and  play  at  being  rich. 
Louis  was  never  one  to  do  that.  Oh  thank 
God  he  leaves  a  name  unstained — unstained — " 
she  sobbed. 

Uncle  Roberts  went  back  to  Coed-Ithel  and 
Jeanne  was  alone  once  more. 

In  a  darkened  room,  with  head  aching  and 
cheeks  burning  from  long  hours  of  bitter,  hopeless 
weeping — she  lay;  listening  to  the  ceaseless 
jangle  of  hansoms,  and  the  alternate  nearing  and 
dying  sounds  of  horses'  hoofs,  that  came  to  her 
through  the  open  window.  As  she  counted  each 
chime  of  the  clock,  she  had  a  wild  feeling  that 
she  must  be  waiting  still — for  the  bell  that  would 
never  ring — the  hansom  that  would  never  stop — 
the  tread  that  would  never  come  up  the  stair. 

Presently  a  step  did  sound  on  the  stair,  for 
the  Duchess  had  come  to  town,  and  would  take 
no  denial,  but  forced  her  arbitrary  way  into 
Jeanne's  presence. 

Yet  perhaps,  it  was  well  she  did  so;  for  of  the 
mixture  of  motives  that  prompted  her  action, 
Jeanne's  innocent  eyes  only  discerned  one;  and 
that  was  the  honest  sympathy  which  prompted 
her  warm,  motherly  embrace. 


3io  THE  LONELY  LADY 

"Poor  child,  poor  little  Jeanne." 

"Is  there  any  fresh  news — ?  Has  anything 
more — " 

"No,  no.  Denis  has  made  every  enquiry. 
Alas,  there  is  nothing.  Nothing  left  for  you, 
my  poor  child,  but  to  mourn  your  hero,  and  be 
proud  of  him."  The  tears  in  the  Duchess'  eyes 
were  genuine.  She  kissed  the  burning  cheek, 
and  drew  the  aching  head  on  to  her  ample  bosom, 
petting  and  soothing  Jeanne  as  though  she  had 
been  a  child. 

"  But  you  can't  stay  here  alone,  my  love, "  said 
the  Duchess  presently,  in  her  authoritative  voice. 

"  Yes,  yes,  indeed  I  must ;  until  I  get  his  letters, 
and  know  if  there  was  anything  he  wished — 
The  lawyer  has  not  come  home  yet.  I  am  better 
here.  I  shall  grow  braver  when  I  have  had  time 
to  face  it.  I  shall  be  able  to  attend  to — to 
business  when  Mr.  Valentine  comes. " 

With  a  marvellous  effort — but  the  stake  at 
issue  was  so  great — the  Duchess  held  her  tongue. 

"I  am  coming  down-stairs — to-morrow,"  said 
Jeanne.  "Only  Dunham  thought  it  would  be 
the  best  thing  for  me — to  have  one  more  day — to 
rest — up  here. " 

"And  I  came  to  disturb  you.  But  I  won't 
stay — poor  little  thing.  Only  remember,  if  you 
want  me,  I  will  come  at  any  time.  I  am  in  Park 
Lane,  close  by,  you  know.  And  Denis  is  think- 
ing of  you  day  and  night. " 


OF  GROSVENOR  SQUARE  311 

"  He  is  very,  very  kind, "  faltered  Jeanne.  She 
closed  her  eyes  for  a  moment,  and  the  Duchess 
did  not  guess  that  she  was  reproaching  herself 
passionately  for  her  happiness  on  that  bright 
spring  morning — was  it  only  three  days  ago — 
when  Louis — Louis,  had  she  but  known  it,  was 
lying  dead  in  the  desert. 

"Oh,  let  me  die,  oh,  let  me  die,"  moaned  poor 
Jeanne,  in  her  heart. 

She  came  down  on  the  morrow  and  faced  a 
worse  ordeal  than  the  visit  from  the  Duchess; 
for  a  card  was  brought  to  her  scribbled  over 
with  Cecilia's  pointed  writing. 

"Surely  you  will  see  an  old  friend,  dearest 
Jeanne  f" 

"Oh  yes,  I  will  see  her;  why  not?"  said  Jeanne, 
with  dry  eyes. 

She  felt  as  though  she  could  weep  no  more. 
After  all,  what  did  it  matter  what  Cecilia  said? 

"I  heard  the  Duchess  of  Monaghan  had  been 
let  in,  and  I  was  sure  if  you  could  see  her,  almost 
a  stranger,  you  would  not  refuse  an  old  friend  like 
me, "  said  Cecilia,  who  knew  nothing  of  Jeanne's 
visit  to  Challonsleigh. 

"It  is  very  kind  of  you  to  come, "  said  Jeanne, 
dully. 

Cecilia  looked  at  her  almost  with  awe.     Jeanne 


3i2  THE  LONELY  LADY 

seemed  to  have  lost  her  prettiness,  and  her  fresh 
and  youthful  look. 

Her  cheeks  and  lips  were  pale,  and  there  were 
hollows  beneath  her  brown  eyes,  stained  and 
reddened  with  long  weeping. 

A  note  of  genuine  sympathy  sounded  moment- 
arily in  Cecilia's  voice. 

"  Oh,  poor,  poor,  little  Jeanne.  Will  you  come 
and  stay  with  me?  Joseph  is  away,  so  we  should 
be  quite  alone.  I  am  sure  I  should  be  very  thank- 
ful to  have  you,  for  I  am  nearly  as  lonely  as  you 
are, "  said  Cecilia,  shedding  a  few  tears. 

"Thank  you  very  much.  It  is  very  kind. 
But  I  must  stay  here,  I  am  waiting  for  Mr.  Valen- 
tine,"  said  Jeanne. 

"Well,  I  won't  press  you  against  your  will," 
said  Cecilia;  with  her  handkerchief  to  her  eyes, 
"for  I  know  what  you  must  be  feeling  by  what 
I  am  feeling  myself." 

"Thank  you, "  said  Jeanne. 

Cecilia  began  to  recover  herself,  but  still  cried 
a  little  at  intervals. 

"  I  can't  tell  you  how  shocked  I  was — nor  how 
grieved.  It  reminded  me  so — these  things  always 
do — of  my  own  loss.  You  know,  I  told  you  I 
lost  my  baby — a  boy  six  months  old — pneumonia." 

"Yes,  you  told  me,"  said  Jeanne. 

"It  makes  one  able  to  feel  for  others  more, 
having  been  through  just  the  same  thing  oneself,  " 
said  Cecilia.  "Not  but  what  this  is  worse  than 


OF  GROSVENOR  SQUARE  313 

ordinary  death — all  so  blank — no  funeral — 
nothing." 

"  It  makes  no  difference, "  said  Jeanne,  speaking 
with  dry  lips. 

Oh,  why  had  she  let  Cecilia  in? 

"You  would  not  say  so,"  said  Cecilia,  sobbing, 
"if  you  knew  the  comfort — of  having — their 
grave  to  cry  over — and  keep  nice  and  tidy.  It 
may  not  be  much  consolation,  but  it  is  something." 

"I  daresay  it  might  be  to  you.  I  should  not 
feel  it  so, "  said  Jeanne,  in  a  hard  voice. 

Cecilia's  sobs  took  from  her  every  inclination 
to  weep ;  and  she  felt  only  a  strong  desire  that  her 
friend  should  go,  and  that  speedily. 

"Well — I  am  glad  to  see  you  are  able  to  keep 
up, "  said  Cecilia,  "for  I  was  half  afraid  you  would 
be  like  me.  I  was  utterly  prostrated. " 

"No,  I  am  not  utterly  prostrated.  I  am  able 
to  keep  up." 

"  Yes.  People  take  things  so  differently.  But 
of  course  I  was  there.  That  makes  a  difference. 
Perhaps  it  is  better  when  one  does  n't  see  them, 
after  all." 

"Perhaps  it  is,"  said  Jeanne. 

"Have  you  seen  the  Duke?" 

"No." 

"What  do  you  suppose  made  the  Duchess 
call?" 

"I  don't  know." 

"I  suppose — "  Cecilia  hesitated.     Was  it  too 


314  THE  LONELY  LADY 

soon  to  talk  of  such  things?  Really,  when  there 
was  no  funeral,  it  was  very  hard  to  tell.  It  must 
have  happened  on  the  iyth,  according  to  the 
papers,  ten  days  ago.  But  then  Jeanne  had  only 
known  it  four  days. 

She  looked  at  the  set  white  face,  and  decided 
it  was  too  soon  to  mention  such  matters.  Besides, 
it  was  quite  certain.  He  would  have  left  every- 
thing to  his  only  sister.  Jeanne  would  undoubt- 
edly be  very  rich. 

"You  look  so  tired  that  I  don't  think  I  ought 
to  stay,"  said  Cecilia,  with  a  sudden  outburst 
of  renewed  sympathy.  "  I  only  came  to  tell  you 
how  very,  very  sorry  I  was.  Good-bye,  dear. 
If  you  want  me  you  have  only  to  drop  me  a  line, 
or  send  a  message. " 

She  pressed  her  friend's  hand,  and  went  away 
at  last. 

The  Duke  did  not  come. 

Jeanne  knew  that  he  called  each  morning  and 
evening  at  the  house,  and  asked  how  she  was,  and 
whether  there  were  anything  to  be  done  that  he 
could  do — but  he  never  asked  to  see  her. 

"Nobody  understands  but  Cousin  Denis," 
thought  Jeanne. 

She  remembered,  but  almost  as  a  dream,  that 
hurried  journey  from  Challonsleigh,  and  that  he 
had  put  her  alone  into  the  carriage  with  Dunham, 
and  travelled  to  town  himself  in  another  com- 


OF  GROSVENOR  SQUARE  315 

partment,  that  she  might  be  free  to  indulge  her 
grief  unseen. 

Throughout  the  journey  it  was  he  who  watched 
over  her  comfort,  and  yet  never  obtruded  his 
presence,  and  scarcely  spoke  to  her. 

But  every  thought  of  the  Duke  brought  with 
it  a  fresh  access  of  self-reproach. 

"How  could  I!  How  could  I!  Rejoicing  in 
the  sunshine,  so  full  of  brightness  and  happiness, 
— light-hearted — and  my  boy  in  that  burning 
desert,  marching  to  meet  his  death.  I  did  n't 
think,  I  never  thought.  He  has  been  in  so  many 
dangers,  and  come  so  safely  through. " 

That  her  self-reproaches  were  unreasonable 
made  them  no  less  severe. 

They  poisoned  the  secret  well  of  her  happiness, 
and  rendered  the  recollections  of  those  bright 
spring  days  intolerable. 

She  never  doubted  but  that  the  Duke  divined 
her  thoughts.  His  perceptions  were  so  acute; 
his  sympathies  so  delicate — he  was  gentle  as  a 
woman ;  far  more  gentle,  indeed,  than  any  woman 
she  had  ever  known. 

She  put  her  hands  to  her  eyes  as  though  to  shut 
out  the  memory  of  the  grave  fair  face,  the  kind 
blue  eyes,  the  expression  of  melancholy  raillery 
as  of  one  who  for  a  long  time  had  only  looked  on 
at  life — half  amused,  half  mournful. 

Ah,  how  could  she  think  of  Denis — what  was 
he  to  her — when  her  twin  brother,  comrade,  and 


316  THE  LONELY  LADY 

idol  of  a  lifetime,  who  had  no  place  for  any  one 
but  her  in  all  his  brave,  faithful,  loyal  heart — lay 
dead  in  Africa! 

A  little  parcel  with  a  note  was  brought  to  her. 
It  was  addressed  in  the  Duke's  clear,  minute 
handwriting. 

"  I  am  sending  you  a  miniature.  I  think  it  may 
comfort  you,  even  though  I  fear  it  must  pain  you 
to  have  it  now.  Anything  you  do  not  like  in  it 
can  be  altered.  I  took  the  photograph  you  gave 
me  to  an  artist  some  time  ago,  and  gave  him  what 
directions  I  could  from  your  descriptions,  but  it 
only  came  home  last  night. 

"  DENIS." 

She  tore  off  the  wrappers  and  looked  at  the 
miniature.  It  was  like  and  unlike,  as  such  paint- 
ings usually  are. 

The  eyes  were  the  eyes  of  Louis;  but  the  face, 
copied  exactly  from  the  last  photographs  he  had 
sent,  was  the  face  of  a  graver  and  older  Louis  than 
she  had  ever  known,  and  the  moustache  made  it 
almost  as  the  face  of  a  stranger. 

"  And  yet,  oh  yet,  how  glad  I  am  to  have  it!  I 
will  put  it  with  the  other  miniatures,"  she  said; 
and  suddenly  realised,  with  a  dreadful  pang, 
that  Louis  was  not  numbered  with  that  company 
of  the  dead,  whose  portraits,  cold  and  smiling, 


OF  GROSVENOR  SQUARE  317 

hung  round  the  walls  of  the  silent  gallery 
above. 

She  felt  alone  indeed. 

She  realised  as  she  had  never  realised  be- 
fore that  Louis  had  been  to  her,  in  all  her 
past  life,  the  only  reality  in  a  world  of  shadows. 
Among  the  figures  who  had  moved  upon  the 
horizon  of  her  limited  view,  the  only  one  who 
counted. 

The  discovery  comes  to  many  of  us  whose 
horizons  may  be  crowded  with  thronging  figures, 
— that  very  few  of  them  are  real,  so  far  as  we 
personally  are  concerned.  What  the  others  think 
may  be  interesting,  or  amusing,  or  false  or  true, 
but  it  does  n't  really  matter  to  us;  for  they  move 
across  our  lives  like  phantoms  in  a  dream.  They 
talk  to  us  and  we  reply, — the  words  mean  nothing ; 
we  meet  them  and  smile,  and  part  and  smile 
again;  for  our  little  landscape  is  neither  the 
brighter  nor  the  duller  for  their  absence.  They 
suffer,  and  we  would  help  them  if  we  could,  for 
who  would  see  humanity  suffer  and  not  weep? 
Yet  our  heart  of  hearts  will  never  bleed  for 
them. 

But  for  the  few,  how  different! 

Their  lightest  word,  how  fraught  with  meaning 
— for  us;  their  thoughts  revealed — how  sacred; 
their  companionship,  how  satisfying  to  our  lonely 
souls;  and  the  silence  of  their  absence — how 
unbearable! 


3i8  THE  LONELY  LADY 

And  when  those  beloved  spirits  vanish,  in 
their  turn,  from  our  horizon  into  the  Unknown 
whither  we  may  not  yet  follow — then  how  that 
horizon  darkens;  how  hopeless  the  longing — 
how  drear-  the  outlook — how  empty  the  world! 


CHAPTER  XIX 
THE  LAST  LETTER 

"WHILST  venturing  to  express  to  you  my  deep 
sympathy  for  the  terrible  blow  you  have  sustained," 
wrote  Mr.  Valentine,  "/  wish  to  inform  you  that 
I  have  directed  that  a  letter  addressed  to  you,  and 
entrusted  to  my  care  by  your  poor  brother,  should 
be  immediately  delivered  to  you  by  special  mes- 
senger from  our  firm.  As  regards  his  will,  which 
is  also  in  our  charge,  it  will  be  handed  to  you,  as 
executrix,  whenever  you  choose  to  apply  for  it;  but 
I  hope  to  be  in  London  twenty- four  hours  after  you 
receive  this  letter,  when  I  will,  if  you  please,  call 
upon  you  immediately,  as  I  have  news  of  great 
importance  to  communicate  to  you;  for  which  I 
have  reason  to  hope,  that  your  poor  brother's  letter 
will,  in  some  measure,  prepare  you. " 

Jeanne,  white  to  the  lips,  broke  the  seal  of  the 
enclosure,  which  accompanied  Mr.  Valentine's 
letter,  forwarded  from  Bedford  Row  by  special 
messenger,  in  accordance  with  the  directions 
mentioned. 

The  envelope  within  was  addressed  to  her 
319 


320  THE  LONELY  LADY 

by  that  hand  which  would  write  no  more.  She 
opened  the  letter:  it  was  dated  from  Cape-town, 
August,  1900, — nearly  three  years  ago. 

"  You  will  never  read  this  letter,  my  darling 
Jeanne,  unless  something  happens  to  me  before  I 
see  you  to  explain  why  I  have  acted  as  I  have  done, 
and  kept  it  secret  from  my  beloved  little  sister. 

"/  have  married  Anne-Marie-Charlotte  de  Cour- 
set;  the  only  daughter  of  the  late  Henri  de  C  our  set, 
and  the  only  living  descendant  of  Charles,  the 
Chevalier  de  C  our  set  who  remained  in  the  French 
Navy  when  our  great-grandfather  emigrated  to  Eng- 
land; and  if  you  would  know  what  she  is  like  in 
face,  look  at  the  miniature  of  our  dear  Chanoinesse; 
but  if  in  character, — why,  she  is  ' tres  devote'  (and 
you  may  look  that  up  in  the  dictionary,  my  wee 
little  Jeanne]  and  also,  in  her  own  sweet  way,  a  bit 
of  a  mystic;  and  so  beyond  the  power  of  such  an 
ordinary  mortal  as  I  to  fathom — I  can  but  worship 
and  wonder. 

"Her  father  was  kitted  (or  died  of  his  wounds') 
fighting  at  Boshof  last  April  by  the  side  of  poor  de 
Vittebois-Mareuil;  and  as  soon  as  she  heard  of  his 
death  she  came  out  to  South  Africa  to  find  his  grave; 
defying  all  the  difficulties,  and  overcoming  every 
obstacle  placed  in  her  way.  But  when  you  know 
her  you  will  understand.  While  others  think  (or 
talk) — she  acts. 

"She  heard  of  a  de  C  our  set  in  hospital  at  Kim- 


OF  GROSVENOR  SQUARE  321 

berley,  and  inspired  by  God  knows  what  wild  hope 
of  finding  that  there  had  been  some  mistake — that 
her  father  might  be  yet  alive — she  flew  there  on  the 
wings  of  love  and  hope — oh  what  an  angel  come  to 
seek  a  poor  mortal,  she  seemed  to  me, — and  how  do 
you  suppose, — that  having  found  her,  I  could  ever 
let  her  go?  .  .  .  /  was  nearly  convalescent,  and  I 
got  leave  and  slipped  away  here,  and  married  her 
quietly  in  the  chapel  of  the  convent  where  she  was 
staying,  and  before  the  French  Consul.  .  .  . 

"  Now  if  I  had  written  this  piece  of  news  straight 
away  to  you,  as  I  was  sorely  tempted  to  do — /  know 
as  well  as  you  do,  that  between  Uncle  Roberts's 
horror  at  my  marrying  a  foreigner  and  a  Roman 
Catholic, — and  your  anger — perhaps,  who  knows  f— 
with  your  poor  unstable  brother,  who  has  broken  his 
solemn  promise  to  you,  and  he  knows  it  and  deplores 
his  weakness  on  his  knees,  and  begs  you  to  forgive 
him,  though  I  am  afraid  he  doesn't  repent  as  he 
should — between  all  these  conflicting  emotions,  and 
the  certainty  of  your  preconceived  dislike  for  my 
wife,  and  your  conviction  of  her  complete  unworthi- 
ness,  (which  you  know  and  can't  deny  you  are 
feeling  at  this  moment)  I  wonder  how  much  chance 
of  a  welcome  my  beautiful  saint  and  queen  would 
have  had  from  you  all  ? 

"Not  to  mention  that  the  life  at  Coed-Ithel  and 

the  ways  of  our  beloved  uncle,  would  completely 

bewilder  and  upset  her,  without  me  to  act   as    a 

buffer,  so  to  speak.     For  tJiough  she  is  perfectly 

ai 


322  THE  LONELY  LADY 

simple,  yet  she  is  also,  '  tres  grande  dame,'  in  her 
way,  my  beautiful  Anne-Marie. 

"If  on  another  hand  you  and  Uncle  Roberts  hear 
that  I  have  a  wife  and  she  does  n't  come  to  see  you — 
why  what  another  hullabaloo  once  more.  So  all 
things  considered  in  my  poor  crazy  brain — half 
crazy  with  joy  and  pride  to  have  won  the  one  woman 
on  earth  whom  God  created  for  me  alone — /  have 
determined  that  silence  is  golden.  .  .  . 

"But  in  case  bad  luck  steps  in,  as  it  has  an  ugly 
knack  of  doing  in  South  Africa  just  now,  and  pre- 
vents me  from  carrying  out  my  happy  plan  of 
fetching  my  darling  back  from  her  own  country,  (to 
which,  alas,  she  has  already  flown)  and  hiding  her 
in  London  until  I  have  talked  over  both  you  and 
dear  old  Uncle  Roberts,  (and  you  know  I  could  do 
it,  my  silly  little  Jeanne)  why  then — why  then  I 
have  no  resource  but  to  write  my  confession  now  and 
send  it  to  safe  keeping,  that  you  may  hear  it  at  least 
from  me,  dead  or  alive,  and  from  nobody  else. 

"So  if  you  ever  read  this,  my  Jeanne  dear,  I 
shan't  be  here  to  know  whether  you  forgive  me  or 
not,  which  makes  me  all  the  more  certain  that  you 
will  do  it — and  that  you  will  remember  that  my  wife 
is  part  of  me,  and  the  best  part;  and  that  I  love  and 
reverence  her  above  everything  and  everybody  in  this 
world;  and  you  will  take  her  to  your  heart,  and  never 
be  jealous  nor  sick  nor  sorry  concerning  my  love 
for  her;  because  Love  is  Love,  and  we  cannot  help 
its  mastery  even  if  we  would. 


OF  GROSVENOR  SQUARE  323 

"  With  this,  I  draw  up  a  short  will. — Ah  me, 
ok  me,  that  I  should  have  so  little  to  have  I  But  I 
hope  there  will  be  a  few  hundreds  over  out  of  my 
thousand  pounds'  insurance,  after  paying  my 
debts,  and  buying  Uncle  Roberts  his  horse;  and 
I  appoint  you  sole  executrix,  for  I  know  naught 
of  French  formalities  and  have  no  wish  to  make 
legal  difficulties  to  add  expense;  and  I  divide  all 
my  property  equally  between  the  two  who  are  nearest 
and  dearest  to  my  heart,  my  darling  sister  and  my 
beloved  wife.  But  my  debts  I  leave  to  my  little 
Jeanne  d'Arc  alone,  for  I  know  it  would  go  to  her 
heart  that  any  other  should  pay  them:  and  for  the 
honour  of  the  family,  as  you  used  to  say  when  you 
gave  me  your  new  desk,  etc.,  to  take  to  school,  and 
kept  my  shabby  old  things  in  its  stead,  the  wretched 
provision  I  leave  my  wife  must  be  as  large  as  we 
can  make  it;  though,  thank  God,  she  is  not  dependent 
on  that,  but  has  a  competence  of  her  own,  and  lives 
in  great  state  and  luxury  with  her  old  servants  on 
about  twenty  thousand  francs  a  year.  Her  home 
is  not  far  from  the  Chdteau  de  Courset!  Which 
now  belongs  to  a  good  little  bourgeois — (Oh  if  I  could 
hear  her  benevolent  tones) — of  the  Boulonnais.  I 
write  her  address  on  the  back  of  this  letter. 

"Now,  of  course  such  a  pauper  as  I  had  no 
business  to  marry  at  all,  but  blame  me  who  will, 
what  care  I,  so  that  you  are  on  my  side?  For 
with  such  love  to  inspire  me,  I  should  be  a  fool 
and  an  idiot  not  to  get  on,  and  I  shall  but  strive 


324  THE  LONELY  LADY 

the  harder,  for  her  sake,  to  do  my  absolute  best 
with  the  chances  God  gives  me.  Feeling  as  fit 
and  as  jolly  as  I  do  now,  for  I  am  practically  all 
right  again  and  hope  to  get  back  to  duty  at  once, 
it  is  difficult  to  write  very  seriously,  my  Jeannie 
dear,  and  after  all,  why  should  I  try  ?  If  I  am 
killed,  I  am  killed — and  there  's  an  end  of  it.  All 
the  best  and  bravest  fellows  I  know,  have  led  the  way. 
" '  End  thy  journey  in  content,  just  as  an 
olive  falls  off  when  it  is  ripe,  blessing  Nature  who 
produced  it,  and  thanking  the  tree  on  which 
it  grew.' 

"  Which  reminds  me  that  I  gave  my  copy  of  M. 
Antoninus,  translated,  to  a  Boer  who  was  wounded 
and  a  prisoner,  a  fine  fellow  and  able  to  read 
English,  and  he  said  to  me  a  few  days  later:  '  Cap- 
tain, this  man  has  written  down  all  my  thoughts.' 
About  the  best  and  simplest  criticism  old  Marcus 
Aurelius  would  have  wished,  I  should  think,  to 
evoke. 

"But  I  try  once  more  to  put  myself  in  your 
place  in  case  you  read  this,  and  fear  terribly  to 
cause  you  sadness,  my  little  sister.  Somehow  I 
can't  bring  myself  to  fear  anything  for  her;  she 
is  too  far  above  me,  in  the  calm  certainty  of  faith 
which  is  hers,  and  at  which  I  look  on  amazed,  but 
reverent  I  hope;  as  who  would  not  be,  that  had 
watched  an  angel  pray  ? 

"  Anne-Marie  has  a  lion-heart;  but  you,  my  little 
Jeanne,  I  would  fain  bid  you  pluck  up  courage, 


OF  GROSVENOR  SQUARE  325 

and  remember  that  the  longest  life  can  last  but  a 
few  years;  a  few  more,  or  a  few  less,  what  does 
it  signify  ? 

"/  believe  it  is  D' Israeli  who  says  'grief  is  the 
agony  of  a  moment:  indulgence  in  it  is  the  mistake 
of  a  lifetime.' 

"  Take  all  the  joy  that  comes  to  you  in  life  and 
be  thankful  for  it;  and  if  you  want  to  know  what 
are  my  feelings — why,  I  would  like  you  never  to 
go  into  mourning  for  me,  and  to  laugh  whenever 
you  mention  my  name,  but  above  all  to  know  that, 
though  I  am  Anne-Marie's  devoted  lover  and 
servant  and  husband  to  command,  I  am  yet  also, 
for  ever  and  ever,  your  brother  that  loves  you. 

"LOUIS  DE   COURSET." 

Oh,  were  they  only  written  words,  or  was  it 
her  brother's  merry,  tender,  mocking  voice  that 
rang  in  her  ears  as  she  read?  Everything  was 
changed.  Her  grief  was  no  longer  that  pure  and 
undivided  anguish  of  sorrow  all  her  own. 

Love,  pity,  and  jealousy,  grief  and  disappoint- 
ment, all  had  their  share  in  the  tumult  of  fierce 
emotion  which  was  beyond  anything  Jeanne's 
gentle  breast  had  ever  known. 

Louis  was  not  only  her  brother,  her  hero  and 
idol,  her  twin-spirit, — he  was  also  the  husband  of 
Anne-Marie. 

While  she  had  thought  of  him  as  dying  with 
only  her  image  in  his  thoughts,  only  her  pictured 


326  THE  LONELY  LADY 

face  in  his  haversac,  only  her  love — the  love 
which  she  believed  to  be  all  in  all  to  him — in 
his  faithful  heart; — his  last  vision  had  been  that 
of  his  "saint  and  queen, " — of  her  whom  he  loved 
and  reverenced  "above  everything  and  every- 
body in  this  world."  And  her  name,  perhaps, 
the  last  upon,  his  dying  lips.  How  much  had 
she  known  of  Louis,  after  all?  Of  the  Louis  who 
had  kept  this  secret  from  her,  whilst  she  had 
poured  forth  her  very  soul  in  her  faithful  letters 
to  him?  Of  the  boy  who  had  become  a  man, 
during  the  long  years  of  his  absence? 

He  had  failed  in  loyalty,  failed — failed — thought 
Jeanne,  gazing  into  the  silent  empty  room  in  that 
dry-eyed  desolate  misery  that  hurts  the  very 
soul,  unlike  the  tender  sorrow  which  can  be 
poured  forth  in  tears,  softening  and  healing  as  it 
flows. 

In  proportion  to  her  unthinking  and  absolute 
trust  in  him;  in  proportion  to  the  idolatry  with 
which  she  had  regarded  him,  and  the  simplicity 
which  had  enabled  her  to  retain  her  childish 
belief  in  his  infallibility — she  suffered  now. 

Because  he  had  broken  his  word  to  her,  because 
he  had  withheld  his  confidence,  because  he  was 
not  the  Louis — half  soldier,  half  archangel  of 
her  dreams;  but  a  mere  man  after  all. 

The  love  of  a  sister  for  a  brother  stands  apart 
from  every  other  love  in  the  world,  if  but  for  this 
cause — that  it  is  the  only  affection  which  can  truly 


OF  GROSVENOR  SQUARE  327 

survive  and  withstand  the  administration  of  home- 
truths. 

The  most  tender  of  parents  are  well  aware  that 
such  must  be  sparingly  administered  indeed,  if 
they  are  to  retain  the  love  and  the  confidence  of 
their  offspring;  whilst  if  not  Nature,  at  least 
civilisation  forbids  a  child  to  communicate  his 
opinion  of  their  merits  or  demerits  to  the  authors 
of  his  being. 

The  most  romantically  attached  husbands  and 
wives  know  that,  if  the  mirror  of  truth  he  held  up 
too  often  to  the  weaknesses  of  human  nature,  the 
illusion  on  which  all  romance  is  primarily  based 
must  vanish.  The  lover  dare  not  blame  his  mis- 
tress over-much,  lest  love  should  be  drowned  in 
resentment;  nor  must  the  friend  treat  his  friend's 
feelings  roughly  lest  he  lose  his  friendship. 

But  the  brother  may  say  what  he  will  to  his 
sister ;  may  deride  her  absurdities,  label  her  faults, 
repel  her  caresses,  scatter  her  prejudices;  and  if 
she  loves  him,  she  but  clings  the  closer. 

The  relationship,  at  its  best,  is  the  perfection 
of  human  comradeship;  with  all  life's  earliest 
memories  to  sanctify  it,  and  every  hope  and  am- 
bition for  the  future  to  lend  it  an  interest  which 
can  only  increase  with  years. 

Jeanne  loved  and  blamed  and  pitied  Louis  all 
in  one — but  like  lightning,  her  resentment  flashed 
upon  the  image  of  Anne-Marie. 


328  THE  LONELY  LADY 

It  seemed  to  her  that  she  had  always  known  of 
this  woman's  existence;  she  felt  as  though  a  long- 
dreaded  enemy  had  arisen  at  last  and  snatched 
her  brother  from  her;  so  that  he  was  no  longer 
her  own,  even  in  death. 

Ah,  but  what  were  his  words  ? — his  words  that 
he  had  written  with  such  careless  certainty  that, 
blame  him  who  would,  his  sister  would  be  on  his 
side : 

"So  if  you  ever  read  this.  ...  7  shan't  be  here 
to  know  whether  you  forgive  me  or  not,  which  makes 
me  all  the  more  certain  that  you  will  do  it. " 

"  Oh,  with  all  my  heart  and  soul  I  forgive  you, 
Louis,"  cried  Jeanne,  weeping. 

"  And  that  you  will  remember  that  my  wife  is 
part  of  me  and  the  best  part.  .  .  .  and  you  will 
take  her  to  your  heart,  and  never,  never  be  jealous 
nor  sick  nor  sorry  concerning  my  love  for  her;  for 
Love  is  Love,  and  we  cannot  helb  its  mastery  even 
if  we  would.  .  .  .  ' 

There  came  to  Jeanne,  suddenly,  a  memory 
of  halcyon  days,  scarcely  past;  of  a  radiance  she 
could  not  deny  to  those  bright  April  hours;  of 
her  bitter  self-reproach  for  the  happiness  she  had 
dared  indulge  whilst  Louis  was  in  danger;  nay, 
whilst  Death  had  already  claimed  him  for  its 
own.  Death  which  he  feared  so  little;  for  it  was 
not  possible  for  any  one,  knowing  Louis,  to  think 


OF  GROSVENOR  SQUARE  329 

of  him  as  fearing  death,  apart  from  his  own  words 
penned  in  the  fulness  of  life  and  young  love. 

He  had  always  thrown  himself  eagerly  into 
his  varied  pursuits,  working  strenuously  at 
whatever  lay  before  him,  and  never  pausing  to 
count  results. 

Was  this  philosophy?  thought  little  Jeanne, 
or  was  it  carelessness?  Did  it  mean  that  he 
thought  too  little — or  too  much — to  fear  death? 

She  could  not  tell.  Human  nature  is  apt  to 
undervalue  the  greatness  of  even  those  fellow- 
creatures  whom  it  holds  dearest.  Jeanne  realised 
humbly  that  of  the  inner  depths  of  Louis  she  had 
known  little  since  his  earliest  childhood.  There 
were  subjects,  of  which,  boy-like,  he  had  seldom 
spoken;  for  which  perhaps,  the  little  sister  had 
thought  him  wanting  in  reverence;  but  it  ap- 
peared that,  at  last,  this  quality  had  been  aroused 
in  her  light-hearted  brother. 

He  had  "watched  an  angel  pray,"  and  the 
angel  had  been  Anne-Marie. 

"  Remember  that  my  wife  is  part  of  me — and  the 
best  part." 

She  put  her  lips  to  the  letter,  and  locked  it 
away  with  his  miniature;  looking  at  the  face  of 
Louis,  and  reading  now,  as  it  were,  the  meaning 
of  that  new  purpose  and  determination  written 
on  his  handsome  brow. 

Then  slowly,  slowly  she  moved  to  the  escritoire 


330  THE  LONELY  LADY 

and  sat  down  before  it,  and  took  up  a  pen — 
to  write  to  Anne-Marie. 

With  the  very  action  a  little  comfort  came; 
a  little  lightening  of  the  darkness  of  her  grief. 
There  was  something  to  be  done  for  Louis  after 
all. 

It  was  in  every  sense  a  difficult  letter  to  write, 
for  in  spite  of  her  studies,  poor  Jeanne's  French 
was  as  yet  very  far  from  perfect.  But  with  her 
grammar  and  her  dictionary  beside  her,  she 
toiled  over  it,  through  the  hours  of  the  long, 
bright  afternoon,  patiently  making  one  copy  after 
another. 

It  was  Anne-Marie's  home  to  which  she  was 
inviting  her  to  come,  since  Louis  had  said  that 
they  were  to  share  and  share  alike  in  all  the 
property  he  left  behind;  though  little  dreaming, 
when  he  wrote,  how  great  and  rich  a  property  it 
was  to  be. 

"Si  vous  viendrez,"  wrote  Jeanne,  in  her  best 
round  hand,  and  most  surprising  French,  "  je  vous 
prendrai  &  mon  coeur  comme  il  a  ecrit,  et  je  ferai 
ma  mieux  etre  une  soeur  &  vous.  Mais  c'est  je 
qui  va  payer  ses  dettes ;  pour  il  les  a  fie  a  moi. " 

As  she  finished  at  last,  and  paused,  pen  in  hand, 
to  consider  doubtfully  how  to  address  the  en- 
velope to  her  brother's  wife — the  door  behind 
her  opened. 

The  windows  of  the  morning-room  were  thrown 


OF  GROSVENOR  SQUARE  331 

up  to  their  fullest  extent,  letting  in  the  freshness 
of  the  May  air,  and  the  noise  of  the  season's 
traffic;  and  thus  she  had  not  heard  the  bustle 
and  commotion  of  voices,  in  the  hall  outside; 
but  she  heard  very  distinctly  indeed  the  announce- 
ment which  Hewitt  made,  almost  at  the  top  of 
his  voice,  in  a  tone  of  mingled  wonder,  incredulit", 
and  triumph, 

"The  Marquis  de  Courset." 


CHAPTER  XX 
LE  MARQUIS  DE  COURSET 

Life  must  be  reaped  like  the  ripe  ears  of  corn; 
One  man  is  born,  another  dies.1! 

EURIPIDES. 

A  LITTLE  boy,  scarcely  more  than  a  baby — unmis- 
takably a  little  French  boy,  in  a  white  tunic 
tied  just  above  his  knees  with  a  dull  white  sash 
— stood  on  the  threshold  of  the  morning-room. 
But  Jeanne,  in  her  bewilderment,  scarcely  looked 
at  him,  or  took  in  the  significance  of  the  announce- 
ment. She  was  overcome  by  the  certainty — the 
instant  conviction  that  thrilled  through  her  whole 
being — that  the  tall  figure  behind  the  child,  in 
deepest  mourning  of  crape  draperies  and  flowing 
veil,  was  Anne-Marie. 

Anne-Marie  to  whom  she  had  been  writing  all 
the  afternoon. 

"You  did  not  attend  us,  Mademoiselle?" 
said  a  sweet  voice,  in  hesitating,  careful  English. 
"But  I  did  write,  I  wrote — to  the  lawyer,  to 
M.  Valentine,  that  it  was  to-day  we  would  arrive. " 

The  wife  and  sister  of  Louis  looked  at  each  other ; 
332 


THE  LONELY  LADY  333 

each,  woman-like,  divining  the  impression  she 
had  made. 

"  She  is  not  like  her  brother, "  thought  the  wife. 

"She  is  older  than  Louis,"  thought  Jeanne. 

Anne-Marie,  with  a  hand  on  either  shoulder  of 
the  little  boy,  waited — proudly  it  seemed,  for 
she  had  a  noble  and  majestic  face  and  figure — in 
the  doorway. 

"Won't  you  come  in?"  faltered  Jeanne,  with 
beating  heart. 

It  was  not  the  greeting  that  she  had  pictured 
to  herself  that  afternoon.  But  the  opportunity 
had  come  upon  her  so  suddenly  that  she  could 
not  rise  to  it. 

"Mais  oui, "  said  Anne-Marie,  with  a  winning 
gentleness  and  a  dignity  indescribable,  "if  you 
welcome  us,  we  will  come  in. " 

Then  as  Jeanne's  face  grew  whiter  and  whiter, 
instead  of  expressing  the  kindness  for  which  she 
had  hoped,  she  clasped  her  hands  together  and 
cried  in  distress: 

"Vous  avez  rec,u  sa  lettre?" 

"Yes,  yes — I  have  his  letter,"  said  Jeanne. 

She  made  an  agitated  step  forward.  But  she 
was  faint  and  sick  with  long  weeping,  and  she  had 
scarcely  touched  solid  food  for  days,  from  sheer 
inability  to  swallow. 

She  felt  herself  failing,  knew  a  strong  soft  arm 
about  her,  and  heard  a  calm  authoritative  voice 
issuing  orders  in  broken  English. 


334  THE  LONELY  LADY 

Her  unconsciousness  was  momentary ;  a  piercing 
cry  of  "Maman,  Maman,"  broke  the  spell,  and 
Jeanne  found  herself  on  the  sofa,  and  perceived 
that  Anne-Marie  was  beside  her,  with  the  little 
boy  clinging  to  her  skirt,  and  burying  his  face 
in  her  black  draperies. 

Jeanne  sat  up,  and  put  both  hands  confusedly 
to  her  head  as  one  awaked  from  sleep. 

She  looked  at  the  fair  mournful  face  beside  her. 

It  was  the  face  of  the  Chanoinesse  in  the  minia- 
ture, grown  older,  sadder,  and  graver. 

The  marked  eyebrows,  expressive  hazel  eyes, 
and  curved  beautiful  mouth  were  the  same,  and 
the  raven  hair  was  drawn  from  the  same  broad 
brow.  But  the  Anne-Marie  of  the  miniature 
simpered  and  ogled,  and  looked  merry  and  arch 
and  frivolous  all  at  once. 

This  Anne-Marie  was  serious  and  noble  of 
expression;  the  shade  on  her  face  was  too  deep 
to  have  been  cast  by  a  recent  sorrow,  however 
severe.  Patience  and  resignation  looked  forth 
from  her  serene,  beautiful  eyes. 

"I  demand  your  pardon,  mademoiselle,"  said 
Anne-Marie,  "to  have  come  upon  you  too  sud- 
denly." Her  voice  was  sad,  and  calm.  "But 
it  was  his  directions  that  I  followed.  He  said, 
if  anything  happens,  wait  two  days,  that  she  may 
have  the  letter.  Then  write  to  M.  Valentine 
that  he  may  warn  her  of  your  coming;  then  go 
to  her,  taking  our  son,  and  wait  not.  I  did  write; 


OF  GROSVENOR  SQUARE  335 

I  marked  "private,"  as  he  bade  me,  upon  the 
letter,  and  so  soon  as  I  had — these — "  she  touched 
her  draperies,  "  I  did  come.  It  was  soon ;  indeed 
terribly  soon,  to  leave  my  house,  and  make  the 
journey.  But  what  would  you?  He  had  desired 
it,  and  I  could  but  follow  his  wishes,  and  write  to 
M.  Valentine  to  warn  you,  as  he  had  said. " 

"I  was  not  warned,"  said  Jeanne,  faintly, 
"but  I  see  how  it  was — your  letter  was  marked 
private,  so  it  was  not  opened,  but  forwarded  to  Mr. 
Valentine.  He  is  abroad.  And  I  did  not  know 
— I  did  not  know — "  she  cried  piteously,  "that 
Louis  had  a  son." 

"Mr.  Valentine  knew,"  said  Anne-Marie. 
"Louis  wrote  to  him  of  his  marriage,  and  of  his 
son,  when  the  news  of  his  fortune  came.  But 
he  was  even  then  sailing  for  the  Somaliland, 
which  was,  he  told  me,  on  his  way  home.  He 
had  been  silent  so  long  he  said  he  would  wait  yet 
a  little  while  to  tell  you  all  himself,  that  you 
might  understand.  So  he  forbade  also  that  Mr 
Valentine  should  speak  his  secret." 

She  looked  anxiously  at  Jeanne. 

"  It  is  terrible  for  you — to  learn  it  thus, "  said 
the  sweet  voice,  unsteadily.  "  I  see  it  well.  But 
he  said  that  his  son — would  console  you  for  all. " 

She  lifted  the  child  on  to  her  knee,  and  for  the 
first  time  Jeanne  saw  the  little  face. 

The  baby  looked  at  her  with  great  blue  eyes 
fringed  with  black  lashes,  and  they  were  the 


336  THE  LONELY  LADY 

eyes  of  Louis ;  he  smiled  roguishly  though  timidly 
— and  the  smile  was  the  smile  of  Louis. 

"Louis!"  she  breathed,  afraid  to  frighten 
him. 

"Dis  ton  nom,  mon  fils — "  said  Anne-Marie, 
"dis  le  done  vite. " 

"Petit  Jean." 

"  II  s'appelle  Jean-Louis — d'  apres  sa  tante 
et  son  pere,"  said  Anne-Marie,  softly.  "C'est 
son  pere  qui  1'  a  voulu.  Tu  vas  nous  pardonner, 
n' est-ce-pas,  ma  soeurf"  and  she  held  out  her 
hand  with  a  gracious,  almost  royal,  gesture,  to 
Jeanne,  as  who  should  say,  Could  woman  grant 
you  greater  compliment  than  to  let  her  only  son 
be  called  by  your  name? 

Jeanne  rose  from  the  sofa, — not  to  fling  herself 
into  the  arms  of  her  sister-in-law,  as  the  wife  of 
Louis,  marvelling  over  the  coldness  of  the  English 
temperament,  perhaps  expected, — but  to  put  into 
the  fair  hand  a  freshly  written  letter. 

"Oh,  read  it,  please  read  it,"  she  cried  wildly, 
"for  though  it  is  written  in  bad,  bad  French,  it 
will  tell  you  all — all  that  I  do  not  know  how  to 
say." 

As  Anne-Marie  read,  with  wet  eyes,  and  the 
tenderest  of  smiles  flitting  across  her  beautiful 
mouth,  while  she  pressed  the  little  round  head 
of  petit  Jean  to  her  bosom, — Jeanne  felt  as  though 
the  strain  she  had  been  enduring  were  suddenly 


OF  GROSVENOR  SQUARE  337 

relaxed;  a  subtle  sense  of  relief  and  consolation 
became  apparent  to  her. 

The  motherly  presence  of  Anne-Marie,  the  baby 
face  of  the  little  boy  with  the  roguish  smile  and 
black  eye-lashes,  seemed  to  pervade  that  mourn- 
ful empty  room,  so  that  it  was  mournful  and 
empty  no  longer. 

The  thought  came  to  her  that  her  oft-expressed 
wish  had  been  (however  sorrowfully)  granted. 
She  was  not  alone,  but  the  member  of  a  family. 
The  little  family  of  mother  and  son — the  ever 
sacred  relationship — belonged  to  her  because  it 
belonged  to  Louis. 

"  Oh,  come,  come  to  my  room  and  rest  after 
your  long  journey,  and  let  me  bring  you  tea  or 
whatever  you  would  like, "  cried  Jeanne,  kneeling 
to  embrace  the  smiling  child  as  tenderly  as  the 
most  impassioned  foreigner  could  have  desired. 
"And  let  me  tell  them  to  get  his  nursery  ready 
for  petit  Jean,  and  your  room  for  you;  for  it  is 
Louis's  house  that  you  are  in,  and  you  have  come 
home,  Anne-Marie." 

Jeanne  presently  sought  Dunham  with  her 
explanation,  satisfying  the  old  woman's  curi- 
osity as  speedily  and  briefly  as  possible,  and 
without  giving  herself  time  to  dwell  on  her  own 
mortification  as  she  explained: 

"Yes,  yes,  it  is  my  brother's  wife — and  his 
little  boy,  and  Mr.  Valentine  knew  all  about  it, 


22 


338  THE  LONELY  LADY 

but  he — he  wanted  to  bring  them  to  me  himself, 
so  he  would  not  write  to  tell  me  he  had  married 
in  South  Africa;  but  I  have  a  letter  telling  me 
all,  Mrs.  Dunham.  There  is  no  mystery  about 
any  of  it.  We  have  only  to  think  how  to  welcome 
her  and  make  her  feel  she  is  at  home  in  his  house,  " 
she  said  breathlessly,  "and  the  little  boy— 

"I  never  had  no  doubts  from  the  moment  I 
set  eyes  on  her, "  said  Dunham,  whose  suspicions 
of  the  intruders  had  vanished  almost  instantly 
on  beholding  the  amount  of  the  baggage,  the 
dignity  of  the  lady,  and  the  respectability  of  her 
suite.  A  man,  and  a  maid;  besides  the  nurse 
resplendent  in  cap,  cloak,  and  long  ribbons, 
carrying  the  little  boy. 

The  news  of  the  arrival  had  flown  over  the  house 
like  wild-fire,  and  the  various  members  of  the 
establishment  were  crowding  and  peeping  on 
the  stairs. 

Only  Hewitt  maintained  his  immovable  com- 
posure, and  stated  his  conviction  of  an  imposture. 

"To  a  fortune  like  this,  claimants  is  sure  to 
turn  up, "  said  the  great  man,  rendered  suspicious 
by  his  knowledge  of  the  world,  and  his  extensive 
reading  of  the  newspapers. 

Dunham's  hurried  interview  with  her  young 
lady  took  place  in  the  hall,  and  in  whispers,  lest 
she  should  be  overheard  by  the  strange  ser- 
vants, who  were  waiting  patiently  in  the  back- 
ground for  further  instructions ;  but  Dunham  had 


OF  GROSVENOR  SQUARE  339 

waited,  it  appeared,  for  no  instructions,  and 
acted  in  contempt  of  Hewitt's  doubts,  on  her  own 
responsibility. 

"I  've  told  them  to  prepare  my  poor  lady's 
room,  Miss  Jane.  Me  and  Mrs.  Pyke— we  felt 
it  must  be  so.  We  couldn't  ask  her  to  climb  the 
stairs  to  the  room  you  got  ready  for  the  poor 
young  gentleman.  Indeed  it  would  n't  be  right; 
nor  suitable." 

She  curtseyed  to  Anne-Marie,  as  she  appeared 
in  the  doorway. 

"Where  are — my  servants?"  said  Anne- Marie, 
smiling  at  Dunham,  but  always  with  her  sweet 
and  gentle  air  of  command.  "Alphonse!" 

"Me  voila,  Madame  la  Marquise,"  said  a 
plaintive  voice,  and  a  small  clean-shaven,  black- 
haired,  blue-chinned  valet  appeared,  and  bowed 
to  his  mistress  and  to  Jeanne.  Anne-Marie 
placed  her  son  in  his  arms  as  a  matter  of  course; 
but  M.  le  Marquis  was  snatched  from  them  jeal- 
ously by  his  nou-nou,  who  started  forward  from 
her  seat  in  the  background. 

A  violent  altercation  immediately  arose  be- 
tween the  two,  in  French  too  rapid  for  Jeanne's 
comprehension,  but  their  mistress  silenced 
them. 

"Taisez  vous  done,  je  vous  en  prie. " 

"  Bien,  Madame  la  Marquise. " 

"The  maid  is  upstairs,  muddarm, "  said  Dun- 
ham, with  subdued  zeal ;  imitating  the  accents  of 


340  THE  LONELY  LADY 

the  others  as  best  she  could,  and  dropping  her 
old-fashioned  curtsey  in  great  agitation. 

No  doubts  nor  hesitations,  no  reflections  upon 
foreign  titles,  nor  contempt  of  foreign  nobility 
were  here.  Jeanne  had  been  nobody  in  her 
brother's  house;  even  her  father's  name  was 
ignored,  and  she  was  only  Miss  Jeanne.  But 
from  the  moment  she  set  foot  in  it,  Anne-Marie 
was  indisputably  and  instantly  the  mistress  of 
the  house;  she  was  Madame  la  Marquise, — a 
great  lady — taking  homage  as  her  due,  and  issuing 
orders  calmly  as  her  undoubted  right. 

The  slighted  dignity  of  the  ancienne  noblesse 
was  avenged  in  her  person.  It  never  occurred  to 
her  remotely  that  she  could  be  anybody  but  the 
Marquise  de  Courset;  she  the  wife  (alas!  the 
widow)  of  the  head  of  the  family, — of  the  young 
chieftain  of  her  father's  race ;  a  race  still  honoured, 
still  remembered  in  its  glorious  traditions,  in  the 
country  of  the  Boulonnais  where  Anne-Marie  had 
been  born  and  brought  up,  and  where  she  held 
her  own  dignified  and  respected  position,  though 
she  was  not  rich,  and  almost  alone  in  the  world. 

"The  property  of  Madame  la  Marquise,"  said 
Alphonse,  who  spoke  a  little  English,  being  the 
son  of  a  courier,  and  who  added  to  it  as  speedily 
as  possible,  that  he  might  boast  the  more,  "has 
been  in  the  famille  de  Courset  for  thousands  of 
years-  so  long  as  France  itself  has  existed  have 


OF  GROSVENOR  SQUARE  34i 

there  been  de  Coursets  dans  mon  pays  a  moi. 
It  is  my  ancestor  who  still  superintends  the 
menage  of  Madame  la  Marquise,  and  my  grand- 
father her  son,  who  does  the  garden — and  cares 
for  the  cows.  For  I  too  am  of  the  Boulonnais, " 
he  said  with  great  satisfaction. 

He  was  inordinately  jealous,  and  permitted  no 
one  but  himself  to  answer  the  electric  bell,  which 
now  sounded  with  considerable  frequency  in  the 
ears  of  the  astonished  household. 

It  was  extraordinary  to  perceive  how  much 
change,  and  bustle,  and  commotion,  the  installa- 
tion of  one  little  boy  created. 

Jeanne  forgot  entirely  the  sad  and  gloomy 
memories  associated  with  poor  Miss  Marney's 
bedroom,  when  she  entered  presently  to  find 
housemaids  hurrying  in  and  out  with  mattresses 
to  be  aired;  Alphonse  unstrapping  and  setting 
up  a  little  cot;  and  Mrs.  Pyke  (shaking  more 
than  ever,  but  determined  to  have  her  say) 
sending  hither  and  thither  for  fresh  curtains, 
and  herself  carrying  to  the  wash-stand  an  armful 
of  the  finest  towels  her  linen-room  could  boast. 

Before  the  fire  the  baby's  bath  was  laid  upon 
a  snowy  blanket,  edged  with  gay  blue  ribbon, 
and  on  his  nou-nou's  lap  sat  petit  Jean,  amused 
and  interested  at  the  commotion  about  him, 
with  a  little  face  bright  as  the  May  sunshine 
turned  upon  them  all,  and  blue  eyes  shining 
like  stars,  in  their  setting  of  long  black  lashes. 


342  THE  LONELY  LADY 

Yet  the  thought  could  not  but  return  to  her — 
Is  this  all?  this  little,  laughing,  unconscious  creat- 
ure all  that  is  left  to  us  of  Louis  ? 

Of  Louis  with  his  tried  strength  and  hard-won 
successes;  his  soldiering  and  his  learning;  his 
knowledge  born  of  hard  work  in  camp  and  field 
and  study;  and  all  the  thousand  experiences  that 
go  towards  the  making  of  a  noble  manhood. 

Is  that  all  wiped  out — and  all  to  begin  again, 
as  it  were,  from  the  very  beginning,  in  the  person 
of  his  son? 

But  in  the  cheerfulness  of  the  room  such  reflec- 
tions could  obtain  no  mastery  over  the  healthy, 
natural  instinct  of  womanhood, — of  wonder  and 
delight  in  a  baby. 

In  a  moment  Jeanne  was  on  her  knees  before 
him,  worshipping  with  the  rest. 

"Thou  wilt  remain  with  him  here  while  he 
sleeps.  Thou  wilt  not  leave  him  for  an  instant, 
lest  he  wake  in  a  strange  place,  and  have  fear, 
Madeleine?" 

"Soyez  tranquille,  Madame  la  Marquise." 

Downstairs  Hewitt,  disgusted  to  nausea  with 
the  folly  of  the  feminine  portion  of  the  household, 
maintained  his  strictly  neutral  attitude  towards 
the  invaders. 

"We  don't  know  who  they  are,  nor  what 
claims  they  have,"  he  said,  sternly,  "and  till 
something  is  proved,  I  for  one,  sets  my  face  against 
all  this  fuss  and  turning  of  the  place  upside  down ; 


OF  GROSVENOR  SQUARE  343 

and  so  I  shall  tell  Mr.  Valentine,  as  soon  as  ever 
I  sets  eyes  on  him.  What  's  a  little  boy?  One 
would  think  no  one  had  ever  seen  such  a  thing 
before;  and  all  the  women  ready  to  eat  him  up. 
It  makes  me  feel  savage.  Walking  in  as  though 
the  whole  place  belongs  to  him. " 

"  And  so  it  will  surely,  if  he  's  the  poor  Captain's 
son,"  ventured  William. 

"  Who  knows  whether  he  's  the  Captain's  son, 
or  anything  about  them?  Dropped  from  the 
clouds  in  a  four-wheeler,"  said  Hewitt,  gloomily. 

But  the  Irish  footman  was  carried  away  by 
the  excitement  around  him,  and  secretly  defied 
his  chief:  lending  every  assistance  in  his  power 
to  Alphonse;  and  conversing  with  him  in  broken 
English  under  the  impression  that  he  was  thus 
picking  up  the  French  language,  with  surprising 
ease  and  rapidity. 

Anne-Marie  put  aside  all  thoughts  of  her 
fatigue  and,  perhaps,  of  her  desire  to  be  alone, 
and  to  think  and  to  weep  in  her  own  chamber, 
and  sat  up  talking  with  Jeanne  half  the  night 
when  all  the  household  had  gone  to  bed,  and 
when  petit  Jean  lay  sleeping  in  his  cot  beside  the 
fire. 

They  talked  in  whispers,  not  to  disturb  his 
peaceful  slumbers;  and  thus  Jeanne  learnt  that 
her  sister-in-law  had  outraged  the  opinion  of  her 
neighbours,  and  even  her  own— by  leaving  her 


344  THE  LONELY  LADY 

retirement  in  the  first  hours  of  her  widowhood 
to  obey  her  husband's  behests,  and  seek  his  sister. 

"But  he  thought  so  little  of  les  convenances," 
she  said,  "  was  I  to  regard  them  above  his  wishes? " 

She  had  a  gift  for  terse  and  picturesque  de- 
scription, and  presently  Jeanne  felt  as  though 
she  realised  the  whole  entourage  of  Anne-Marie's 
long  girlhood — her  home  in  the  French  village 
—her  visits  to  Paris  with  her  beloved  father. 

"For  I  was  almost  thirty  years  old  when  I 
married,"  she  said  with  great  simplicity  and 
frankness.  "What  would  you?  We  received, 
naturally,  many  applications.  Mais  je  n'ai  ja- 
mais  voulu  quitter  papa!  Et  enfin,  c'  est  lui 
qui  m'  a  quittee. " 

Her  father  had  only  lived  for  his  motherless 
daughter,  but  he  had  the  friendship  of  a  lifetime 
for  the  gallant  de  Villebois-Mareuil,  and  being 
likewise  unable  to  conquer  the  fighting  instincts 
of  his  race,  had  chosen  to  accompany  him  to 
South  Africa. 

"Papa  had  fifty  years;  but  what  would  you? 
He  was  persuaded  in  spite  of  all  that  one  could 
say  that  his  experience  would  be  the  more  valuable 
to  the  Boers;  and  his  health  was  perfect.  " 

In  a  few  words  she  set  before  Jeanne  the  diffi- 
culties and  fatigues  and  disappointments  of  her 
own  later  journey,  undertaken  in  defiance  of  all 
warnings  bestowed,  and  continued  in  the  face 
of  all  rebuffs  and  refusals. 


OF  GROSVENOR  SQUARE  345 

She  described,  unfaltering,  that  first  meeting 
with  Louis,  gaunt  and  haggard  from  enteric 
fever  (and  of  that,  too,  Jeanne  knew  nothing); 
their  mutual  attraction;  her  loyalty  and  af- 
fection aroused  for  the  head  of  that  ancient 
family,  of  which  she  had  believed  herself  to  be 
the  last  mournful  representative;  their  love  and 
hasty  wedding. 

"That  I  should  have  married  thus! — but 
again,  what  would  you  have?"  said  Anne-Marie, 
"in  war  there  is  no  time  for  ceremony;  and  he 
was  not  one  to  be  denied. " 

Jeanne  knew  very  well  that  Louis  was  not 
one  to  be  denied,  and  that  his  influence  was 
paramount  over  those  who  loved  him. 

Of  all  these  things  Anne-Marie  spoke,  but 
of  her  sorrow  not  at  all.  She  could  no  more 
have  helped  being  silent  over  this  than  Jeanne 
could  have  helped  babbling — tenderly  and  tear- 
fully— of  hers.  And  yet  it  would  have  been  hard 
to  say  which  of  these  two  women  loved  Louis 
the  best. 


CHAPTER  XXI 
ANNE-MARIE 

THE  Duchess  of  Monaghan  was  almost  beside 
herself  with  indignation  when  she  heard,  some 
days  later,  of  the  appearance  of  the  dead  soldier's 
widow  and  child  at  99  Grosvenor  Square. 

Her  feelings  were  such  that  her  son  could  with 
difficulty  restrain  her  from  proceeding  at  once 
to  the  house,  and  then  and  there  forcibly  denounc- 
ing them  as  impostors. 

"Is  it  likely  that  if  the  poor  young  fellow  were 
really  married,  his  own  sister  should  know  nothing 
of  it?  People  of  this  kind  always  turn  up  when 
a  large  fortune  is  in  question.  Look  at  the 
Claimant!  There  is  a  case  in  point.  And  that 
poor  girl  knows  nothing  of  the  world  we  live  in, 
nothing  at  all.  She  will  be  doing  something 
foolish  and  quixotic,  and  ruining  everybody,  her- 
self included, "  said  the  Duchess,  incoherently. 
"Monaghan,  you  must  speak  out  at  once,  and 
put  a  stop  to  it. " 

All  her  prudent  reticence  was  lost  in  lively 
apprehension,  and  even  Denis  could  no  longer  be 

346 


THE  LONELY  LADY  347 

blind  to  the  fact  that  his  mother  had  detected 
and  shared  his  hopes  for  the  future. 

"I  have  no  right  to  interfere,"  he  said  coldly. 

"  You  ought  to  have  a  right  by  this  time.  And 
you  must  see  how  terribly  important  it  is.  Three 
hundred  and  sixty  thousand  pounds  besides  the 
Marney  collection, "  said  the  incautious  Duchess, 
betraying  herself  afresh  with  every  word  she 
spoke.  "  Surely  even  if  her  brother  was  married 
he  must  have  made  a  large  provision  for  her, 
after  talking  of  dividing  it  all.  Surely  he  must 
have  left  a  will  of  some  kind.  If  not, — if  this 
impostor  succeeds  in  proving  her  claim,  don't  you 
see  that  the  widow  and  the  son  would  get  it  all? " 
she  cried  with  tears  in  her  eyes.  "The  trustees 
would  have  no  power  to  provide  for  the  sister 
that  I  can  discover.  She  would  have  just  nothing 
at  all. " 

Denis  did  not  explain  to  his  parent  that  in  such 
case  Jeanne  would  have  exactly  as  much  as  he 
had  supposed  her  to  possess  when  he  had  first 
made  up  his  mind  to  marry  her  if  he  could. 

"I  am  so  fond  of  her — she  is  so  exactly  the 
very  person  I  should  have  chosen  for  my  daughter, 
that  the  blow  would  be  doubly  severe, "  said  the 
poor  Duchess,  appealingly.  "I  cannot  give  up 
my  hopes  yet.  I  cannot  bear  to  think  that  all 
our  plans  should  be  knocked  on  the  head  like 
this,  and  the  whole  thing  become  impossible— 
utterly  impossible,  all  in  a  moment. " 


348  THE  LONELY  LADY 

But  the  Duke's  fair  face  was  inscrutable;  and 
she  could  not  read  his  intentions  there,  try  as 
she  might. 

He  escaped  from  her  presence  as  soon  as  he 
could,  only  to  turn  his  footsteps  in  the  direction 
of  Grosvenor  Square. 

On  this  occasion  he  did  not  merely  enquire 
after  Jeanne,  but  also  sent  in  a  message  to  ask 
whether  she  felt  able  to  see  him. 

The  answer  was  in  the  affirmative,  and  his 
Grace  was  ushered  immediately  into  the  morning- 
room. 

The  Duke  had  not  seen  Jeanne  since  that 
hurried  journey  from  Challonsleigh,  a  fortnight 
ago. 

He  was  shocked  at  the  change  in  her  appearance. 

Her  days  and  nights  of  weeping  had  banished 
the  pretty  red  colour  from  her  cheeks,  and 
dimmed  the  soft  brown  eyes;  and  the  outline  of 
the  round  face  was  perceptibly  thinner. 

He  took  her  hand  in  silence;  looking  at  her 
with  grave,  concerned  blue  eyes. 

"Cousin  Jeanne,  is  this  news  true?" 

"It  is  true,  Cousin  Denis.  Louis  married, 
in  the  summer  of  1900,  in  South  Africa,"  she 
said,  "and  his  wife  is  here,  and  his  son.  And  oh, 
Cousin  Denis,  she  is  Anne-Marie. " 

"Anne-Marie!"   said  the  Duke,   bewildered. 

"You  remember  that  I  showed  you  the  minia- 
tures  of  my  family — of  the  de  Coursets, "  said 


OF  GROSVENOR  SQUARE  349 

Jeanne  wistfully,  "and  the  poor  Comtesse  Anne- 
Marie,  the  first  prisoner  of  the  Revolution?" 

"Yes,  yes,  I  remember." 

"Her  brother  Charles  lived  in  France,  and 
married,  and  had  children,  but  most  of  them 
became  monks  or  nuns.  And  this  Anne-Marie 
is  the  only  living  descendant.  She  is  the  daugh- 
ter of  the  poor  de  Courset  of  whom  Professor 
Hogg- Watson  told  us,  the  one  who  was  killed 
at  Boshof,  by  the  side  of  General  de  Villebois- 
Mareuil. " 

"And  she  married  Louis?" 

"She  went  out  to  South  Africa — to  find  her 
father's  grave.  Late  last  night  we  sat  up  talking, 
and  she  told  me  of  her  long,  long  journey,  and  of 
the  difficulties  she  had — but  she  seemed  to  think 
nothing  of  them — to  get  to  Boshof.  Every  one 
told  her  it  would  be  impossible,  but  she  said 
nothing  was  impossible  to  a  child  who  loved 
her  father.  And — and  she  heard  of  a  de  Courset 
in  hospital,  and  for  one  wild  moment  thought 
there  might  he  a  mistake— 

"Poor  thing." 

"But  she  found  Louis,"  said  Jeanne,  softly. 

Her  bitter  feelings,  so  foreign  to  a  gentle  nature, 
had  all  melted  away  under  the  pathos  and  simpli- 
city of  Anne-Marie's  recital,  and  of  her  description 
of  Louis,  wasted  and  suffering. 

"He  would  not  mention  that  fever  to  me— 
I  thought  him  just  at  that  time  rather  careless 


350  THE  LONELY  LADY 

about  writing  regularly — little  thinking  he  was 
ill  and  hiding  it  from  me  for  fear  I  should  be  anx- 
ious,"  said  Jeanne,  for  her  loyalty  had  con- 
quered her  resentment.  "  She  says  if  she  had  not 
thought  him  dying  she  could  not  have  stayed  even 
then;  but  she  had  told  him  who  she  was,  and, 
as  he  says  in  his  letter  to  me — how  could  he 
let  her  go?" 

Now  that  she  had  seen  Anne-Marie,  Jeanne 
felt  that  she  could  picture  it  all  to  herself:  the 
hospital  tent,  and  Louis,  in  his  weakness  and 
weariness,  suddenly  transported  out  of  his  sur- 
roundings by  the  vision  of  that  beautiful,  serene 
face  that  embodied  the  romance  of  the  past  and 
the  present  in  one. 

The  Duke  was  silent.  He  felt  that,  however 
romantic  the  marriage  of  Louis  might  have  been, 
his  reticence  towards  his  only  sister,  concerning 
it,  could  not  be  explained  away. 

"Cousin  Denis,"  said  Jeanne,  timidly,  "I 
am  going,  if  you  please,  to  fetch  Anne-Marie. 
She  knows  you  are  a  cousin ;  and  I  have  explained 
to  her  how  very  good  you  have  been  to  me  all 
this  time  of  my  loneliness.  I  am  sure  she  will 
see  you.  She  is  so  self-controlled,  but  I  cannot 
be  like  her, "  said  Jeanne,  with  a  very  watery  smile. 
"Indeed  it  would  be  very  odd  if  I  could,  for 
she  is  a  most  beautiful,  stately  person,  just  what 
I  should  imagine  a  queen  ought  to  be.  She 
likes  to  talk  to  me  of  Louis,  and  I  like  to  talk 


OF  GROSVENOR  SQUARE  35i 

to  her.  But  she  never  talks  of — of  her  own 
sorrow,  and  yet— and  yet  you  cannot  see  her 
and  doubt  that  it  is — all  her  life. " 

"If  you  are  sure  she  would  n't  think  me  in- 
trusive— that  it  would  not  be  too  much  for  her, " 
said  the  Duke,  hesitating. 

He  had  no  wish  to  see  Anne-Marie,  but  every 
wish  to  please  Jeanne. 

"  No,  it  is  not  too  much  for  her.  Mr.  Valentine 
came  this  morning,  and  she  saw  him,  and  we  are 
going  together  to  his  office  to-morrow  as  he 
wishes. " 

"Was  he  aware  of  the  marriage?" 

"Yes,  Louis  wrote  to  him  when  he  received 
the  news  of  his  inheritance,  and  told  him  in  con- 
fidence of  his  marriage,  and — and — that  he 
had  a  son.  It  was  only  I — who  did  not  know- 
she  said,  flushing  deeply,  "and  Uncle  Roberts;  and 
we  have  not  yet  decided  quite  how  to  break  it 
to  him.  It  might  be  best  for  me  to  go  and  tell 
him,  for  letters  are  not  much  in  his  way. " 

The  Duke  was  silent  again.  He  could  not 
express  his  feelings,  but  his  face  showed  him 
indignant  for  the  mortification  she  bravely  tried 
to  hide;  and  Jeanne  divined  his  thoughts. 

She  went  to  her  little  desk,  and  opened  it,  and 
brought  out  a  worn  blue  envelope  with  a  broken 
seal. 

"Cousin  Denis,"  she  said  softly,  "I  would 
show  his  last  letter  to  no  one  in  the  world  but 


352  THE  LONELY  LADY 

you.  But  I  cannot  bear  that  you  should  mis- 
understand Louis.  You  will  see  it  was  written 
long  ago.  .  .  .  just  after  he  married.  Read  it 
— and' you  will  understand." 

As  she  put  it  into  his  hand,  he  detained  hers, 
raised  it  to  his  lips,  and  kissed  it.  But  the  action 
was  so  grave  and  so  gentle  that  it  was  more  an 
expression  of  sympathy — the  first  he  had  dared 
to  show  her — than  of  love. 

"  How  was  it  I  could  ever  have  been  so  blind 
— so  foolish — as  to  look  down  upon  him?"  thought 
Jeanne,  colouring  deeply  as  she  left  the  room. 
"He  is  always  the  same — kind  and  noble,  and 
thoughtful  of  the  feelings  of  others.  Surely 
everything  that  any  woman  in  the  world  could 
wish  a  man  to  be. " 

And  she  went  in  search  of  Anne-Marie;  delay- 
ing her  descent  for  a  few  moments,  in  order  to 
give  Denis  time  to  read  the  letter. 

"It  would  be  so  much  more  pleasant,  if  M.  le 
Due  will  consent,  that,  since  he  is  of  our  family, 
he  should  conduct  us  to-morrow  to  the  office 
of  this  M.  Valentine,"  said  Anne-Marie,  with 
her  little  air  of  mingled  persuasiveness  and 
command.  "Is  it  not  so,  my  sister?" 

Jeanne  assented.  It  was  very  clear  to  M. 
le  Due  that  she  would  consent  to  most  things 
that  could  be  proposed  by  her  sister-in-law. 

He   had  not   wished   to   see   Anne-Marie,   but 


OF  GROSVENOR  SQUARE          353 

his   prejudices   were  conquered  before  she  had 
even  spoken. 

She  was,  as  Jeanne  had  said,  at  once  so  simple 
and  so  stately. 

No  doubt  her  beauty  counted  for  much  in 
the  influence  she  exercised  over  all  who  approached 
her;  but  still  more,  perhaps,  her  serene  and  digni- 
fied sweetness  of  character,  which  was  made  mani- 
fest in  her  whole  bearing  and  expression. 

But  the  faint  purple  shadows  beneath  the 
beautiful  hazel  eyes  suggested,  nevertheless,  to 
the  quick  perceptions  of  the  Duke,  midnight 
vigils,  and  a  pillow  watered  with  tears;  the  fair 
complexion  was  almost  unnaturally  pale  in 
contrast  to  the  black  draperies.  He  divined 
that  the  apparent  self-command  of  the  Marquise 
was  hardly  won. 

"Anything  in  the  world  that  I  can  do — "  he 
said. 

"You  have  been  good  to  my  sister,"  said 
Anne-Marie,  and  she  looked  at  him  keenly. 
"  But  yes — she  has  not  failed  to  tell  me'  of  your 
goodness;  eve'n — my  husband — spoke  of  it  in 
his  letters  to  me.  She  would  have  been  always 
alone,  but  for  you,  in  this  great  house — so  great, 
so  triste.  Now  she  will  be  alone  no  more;  for  it 
was  his  wish  that  I  should  protect  her. " 

The  Duke's  fair  complexion  rendered  his  increase 
of  colour  particularly  noticeable.  But  Jeanne 
reflected  his  momentary  embarrassment  with 
23 


354  THE  LONELY  LADY 

so  deep  a  blush,  and  such  obvious  and  painful 
confusion,  that  a  less  observant  person  than 
Anne-Marie  could  hardly  have  failed  to  perceive 
it. 

The  Duke's  blue  eyes  met  her  enquiring  gaze. 

Anne- Marie  paused,  and  appeared  to  consider. 
Then  she  turned  to  Jeanne,  and  addressed  her 
with  peculiar  gentleness,  in  her  slow,  careful 
English. 

"  I  would  like  well  to  show  my  son  to  M.  le  Due. 
Will  you  not  go  yourself,  ma  sceur,  to  find  our 
petit  Jeannot,  and  present  him  to  our  cousin?" 

Jeanne,  thankful  to  escape  and  hide  her  blushes, 
very  gladly  replied  that  she  would,  and  quitted 
the  room;  and  the  Duke  was  left  alone  with  his 
new  relation. 

Whether  Anne-Marie,  as  appeared  probable, 
had  chosen  to  give  him  this  immediate  oppor- 
tunity for  speaking  to  her  in  private,  of  deliberate 
design,  or  whether  she  was  merely  actuated  by 
a  sisterly  desire  to  screen  and  shield  the  obvious 
confusion  of  Jeanne  the  Duke  did  not  pause 
to  discover.  But  he  availed  himself  without  a 
moment's  hesitation  of  the  opening  her  con- 
sideration afforded  him. 

His  embarrassment  vanished  with  the  departure 
of  Jeanne,  and  he  addressed  himself  to  the  Mar- 
quise very  gravely  and  courteously  in  her  own 
language;  though  had  Anne-Marie  possessed  a 
corresponding  sense  of  humour  to  his  own  (which 


OF  GROSVENOR  SQUARE  355 

she  did  not),  she  would  certainly  have  discerned 
the  latent  twinkle  in  his  blue  eyes. 

"  I  understand,  madame,  that  you  are  now  in  a 
measure  the  guardian  of  your  sister's  interests?" 

"Mais  oui,  monsieur,"  said  Anne-Marie,  with 
a  winning  smile,  and  a  dignified  inclination  of 
the  head. 

''Then—  '  said  the  Duke,  with  the  little  bow 
which  Jeanne  had  thought  old-fashioned,  but 
which  appeared  the  most  natural  and  appropri- 
ate salutation  in  the  world  to  the  Marquise, 
"  I  have  the  honour  to  apply  to  you  for  permission 
to  address  myself  to  my  cousin.  A  marriage 
with  her  has  long  been  the  dearest  wish  of  my 
heart. " 

There  was  no  shyness  and  no  hesitation  in 
the  Duke's  manner  now.  He  spoke  with  a 
decision  and  manliness  unmistakable. 

"It  is  as  I  divined,"  said  Anne-Marie:  she 
gave  him  her  left  hand  as  a  royal  favour,  and 
he  kissed  it  with  respectful  ardour.  "Monsieur 
le  Due,  you  have  acted  with  that  propriety  which 
distinguishes  all  brave  and  honest  men," — she 
paused,  and  added — "in  ordinary  circumstances. 
Receive  then  the  assurance  of  my  approval,  as  I 
am  persuaded  you  would  have  received  it  from 
the  lips  of  my  beloved  husband;  and  with  it  the 
expression  of  my  conviction  that  you  will  make 
the  happiness  of  his  sister. " 

"  I  thank  you  infinitely, "  said  the  Duke,  bowing. 


3$6  THE  LONELY  LADY 

Then  he  descended  somewhat  precipitately  from 
his  French  stilts.  "You  will  understand  that 
I  have  said  nothing  to  her  yet.  " 

"  It  goes  without  saying,  "  said  the  Marquise. 

"You  will  then  not  allude  to  the  subject  until 
I  have  ventured  to  ascertain  the  sentiments  of 
my  cousin?"  he  faltered.  "I  demand  your 
pardon,  madame,  but  you  are  perhaps  not  aware 
that  our  English  customs  differ  very  considerably 
— she  might  think — I  am  not  even  sure  whether 
—  "he  floundered  miserably. 

"Soyez  tranquille,  monsieur,"  said  Anne-Marie, 
in  soothing  tones.  "  I  am  enough  well  acquainted 
on  the  contrary,  with  the  usages  of  your  country. 
Here  are  nearly  three  years  that  I  study  them, 
with  your  language,  incessantly.  You  shall  rely 
on  my  discretion. " 

The  Duke  was  a  lover,  but  perhaps  less  selfish 
than  lovers  usually  are;  he  thought  the  sad  smile 
of  Anne-Marie  adorable;  and  her  sympathy  for 
others,  in  the  midst  of  her  own  grief,  touched 
him  deeply. 

"Chere  madame,"  he  said,  with  an  impulsive- 
ness not  habitual  to  him,  "  forgive  me,  forgive  me. 
I  wonder  how  I  can  have  dared  to  obtrude  upon 
you  just  now — wishes  and  hopes,  that  perhaps 
I  must  be  content  to  indulge  in  silence  for  some 
time  longer.  I  know  too  well  that  it  was  not  at 
this  moment  I  should  have  spoken." 

"Ah,   monsieur,"   she  said,   very  simply  and 


OF  GROSVENOR  SQUARE  357 

earnestly,  "is  it  not  then,  in  her  sorrow,  that  the 
little  one  has  most  need  of  consolation?" 

"Would  you  then  counsel  me—?"  he  said  with 
diffident  joy. 

"To  follow  the  impulses  of  your  heart?  Mais 
oui,  monsieur. " 

"And  you  think  it  possible  that  she— that 
she " 

Anne-Marie's  smile,  though  sad  still,  was  yet 
so  expressive  that  he  was  minded  to  kiss  her 
hand  a  second  time,  but  refrained;  for  at  that 
moment  the  door  opened,  and  le  petit  Jean  made 
his  appearance  with  Jeanne. 

Anne-Marie  was  merciful  as  she  was  sympa- 
thetic, and,  with  a  perception  very  unusual  to 
mothers,  she  inflicted  the  company  of  her  idol- 
ised son  upon  the  impatient  lover  for  as  short  a 
time  as  possible. 

Petit  Jean  did  all  that  was  required  of  him;  he 
saluted  M.  le  Due;  smiled  all  over  his  sunny, 
handsome,  little  face;  and  was  finally  borne  away 
in  the  arms  of  the  Marquise  to  look  for  chocolates 
in  the  dining-room. 

"Jeanne,"  said  the  Duke,  in  hushed  tones, 
"  I  have  read  the  letter. " 

"  And  you  understand?  " 

"  I  understand  that  your  brother  was  a  brave 
fellow,"  he  said  with  emotion.  "I  am  very 
proud  to  call  him  cousin." 


358  THE  LONELY  LADY 

"Oh,  thank  you,  thank  you,"  cried  Jeanne. 
No  words  could  have  been  more  grateful  to  her 
aching  heart.  She  laid  the  letter  reverently 
away  in  the  shabby  desk;  and  the  Duke  closed 
the  lid  that  she  might  lock  it. 

Their  hands  met. 

"Jeanne,  oh,  Jeanne,  is  it- -too  soon?  Must  I 
wait  yet  a  little  while  longer?" 

"Will  time  make  any  difference  to  such  sorrow 
as  mine?"  she  said  passionately. 

The  Duke  knew  that  it  would  make  a  difference ; 
for  though  he  was  no  older  than  Jeanne",  he  was 
as  wise  for  his  years  as  she  was  childish  for  hers; 
but  he  did  not  stop  to  think  of  this  now. 

"Oh,  Jeanne!  If  my  love  could  comfort  you 
— if  my  love  could  bring  you  the  happiness  of 
which  he  writes " 

"Love  is  Love,"  she  quoted  in  a  whisper,  "and 
we  could  not  help  its  mastery  even  if  we  would. " 

"Would  you  if  you  could?"  said  the  Duke, 
tenderly;  and  as  he  took  her  into  his  arms,  she 
knew,  tired  and  heart-broken  as  she  was,  that 
the  intolerable  heaviness  of  her  sorrow  was  lifted ; 
and  that  in  the  midst  of  grief  she  had  found  the 
happiness — the  joy  in  life — which  her  dead  hero 
had  bidden  her  take  with  thankfulness  whenever 
it  should  come  her  way. 

And  that  this  comfort  had  come  to  little  Jeanne 
now,  at  the  moment  when  she  so  sorely  needed  it, 
she  owed,  though  she  never  knew  it,  to  Anne- Marie. 


CHAPTER  XXII 
MADAME  LA  MARQUISE 

"  As  one  lamp  lights  another,  nor  grows  less, 
So  nobleness  enkindleth  nobleness." 

J.  RUSSELL  LOWELL. 

"Is  Madame  de  Courset  at  home?"  asked  the 
Duchess. 

"  I  believe  the  Marquise  has  not  yet  left  her 
room,  your  Grace, "  said  Hewitt  distantly. 

For  the  assurances  of  Mr.  Valentine  had  finally 
dispersed  the  doubts  of  Hewitt,  so  that  he  made 
haste  to  show  his  zeal  in  the  service  of  his  new 
mistress,  by  resenting  any  implied  slight  to  her 
importance. 

It  was  his  instinct,  apart  from  training,  to 
be  obsequious  to  duchesses;  even  though  they 
should  elect  to  call  at  unsuitable  hours,  on  foot, 
and  badly  dressed,  and  more  obviously  in  a  hurry 
than  was  at  all  compatible  with  ducal  dignity; 
but  the  latest  domestic  on  dit  had  acquainted 
Hewitt  with  the  fact  that  there  had  been  a  some- 
what heated  controversy  between  the  Duke  and 
his  parent  just  before  the  young  man's  latest 
visit  to  Grosvenor  Square;  and  Hewitt  had  put 

359 


360  THE  LONELY  LADY 

his  own  construction  upon  the  only  detail  which 
had  yet  transpired — that  her  Grace  had  been  dis- 
covered in  tears,  after  the  departure  of  her  son. 

"Of  course  she  've  been  and  took  against  the 
match  now  there  's  a  heir  turned  up,"  reflected 
Hewitt.  "But  I  can't  see  as  she  can  do  nothing, 
storm  as  she  will,  since  the  Duke  's  of  age.  Mrs. 
Dunham  must  have  been  right  when  she  declared 
that  she  was  sure  and  certain  something  was 
settled  yesterday,  when  he  called  on  Miss  Jane; 
or  her  Grace  would  n't  never  have  turned  out 
of  her  bed  at  this  hour  of  the  morning,  and  come 
round  here  seemingly  in  the  worst  of  tempers. '' 

Therefore  Hewitt  determined  to  uphold  the 
dignity  of  his  family  by  employing  a  tone  of  the 
most  distant  respect  towards  the  Duchess,  instead 
of  exhibiting  the  reverential  urbanity  demanded 
by  her  exalted  rank,  when  inviting  her  to  enter. 

The  Duchess  waited  for  no  invitation,  and 
heeded  the  intonations  of  Hewitt  as  little  as 
she  heeded  the  colour  of  the  doormat  over  which 
she  stepped. 

"Tell  Madame  de  Courset  I  will  wait,"  she 
said,  stumping  into  the  morning-room,  of  which 
the  door  stood  open,  without  further  ado.  "And 
tell  her — here,  you  had  better  take  up  my  card — 
that  I  should  be  glad  to  speak  to  her  as  soon  as 
possible. " 

"How  very  strange  that  the  Duchess  should 


OF  GROSVENOR  SQUARE  361 

ask  for  you,  and  not  for  me,"  said  Jeanne, 
surprised. 

"No,  I  do  not  think  it  strange,"  said  Anne- 
Marie,  as  she  rose  from  the  carpet  on  which  they 
were  both  kneeling,  at  play  with  petit  Jean.  "  It 
is  on  the  contrary  what  I  should  have  expected, 
though  it  is  perhaps  rather  early — "  she  glanced 
at  the  clock,  "half -past  ten.  But  there  is  yet 
two  hours  before  we  must  be  at  the  office  of  M. 
Valentine. " 

She  smoothed  her  raven  hair,  adjusted  her 
flowing  black  draperies,  and  went  down-stairs 
to  meet  the  mother  of  her  sister's  fiance. 

It  is  certain  that  the  Duchess  expected  to  see 
no  such  tall  and  stately  figure,  no  such  gracious 
dignity  and  winning  beauty,  as  suddenly  con- 
fronted her  when  Anne-Marie  entered  the  room 
and  closed  the  door  behind  her.  She  returned 
Madame  de  Courset's  composed  and  graceful 
salutation  with  an  agitated  nod. 

The  poor  Duchess  was  neither  young  nor  slim; 
she  was  much  upset  by  a  wakeful  night ;  she  had 
walked  too  fast  and  too  soon  after  breakfast ;  and 
the  morning  was  excessively  warm. 

It  was  impossible  that  she  could  rise,  as  she 
would  have  wished,  to  the  occasion. 

Anne-Marie,  acting  with  the  calm,  decisive 
promptness  to  which  Louis  had  referred  as  her 
characteristic,  opened  the  conversation  without 
embarrassment. 


362  THE  LONELY  LADY 

"I  have  expected,  madame,  to  see  you,  since 
yesterday. " 

"  Expected  me? "  panted  the  Duchess,  in  amaze. 

"  That  you  should  call  so  early — that  you  should 
lose  no  moment — even  this  is  to  be  expected.  I 
too  am  the  mother  of  a  son,  and  can  understand," 
said  Anne-Marie,  with  dignity  inexpressible. 

Then  the  Duchess  found  breath. 

"Last  night — late  last  night,  my  son  informed 
me,  that  after  applying  to  you,  to  you,  for  per- 
mission, he  had  asked  your — your  sister-in-law 
to  marry  him. " 

"It  is  true,"  said  Anne-Marie.  "He  had  the 
delicacy  to  apply  first  to  me,  who  stand  in  the 
place,  alas,  of  her  brother,  her  natural  guardian. 
I  am  very  well  aware  that  in  your  country  this 
is  not  necessary;  I  know  that  here  a  man  need 
not  even  ask  the  permission  of  his  parents  to 
marry.  Myself,  I  think  this  a  very  wrong  and 
terrible  thing." 

"  It  is  terrible.  I  am  glad  you  see  it  in  such  a 
sensible  light,"  said  the  Duchess,  feelingly. 

"But  in  this  case — for  my  sister  has  told  me 
of  your  amiability,  of  her  stay  in  your  house 
and  your  maternal  solicitude — she  needs  not  to 
have*  doubt  of  your  approval — of  your  gladness  to 
accept  her  as  a  daughter?"  said  Anne-Marie;  but 
now  there  was  a  questioning  accent  in  her  voice. 

The  Duchess  hesitated. 

The  explanation  was  not  easy.     She  had,  in 


OF  GROSVENOR  SQUARE  363 

a  thousand  ways,  invited  Jeanne  to  take  for 
granted  that  such  a  daughter  would  be  more  than 
welcome  to  her.  She  had  been  not  only  affec- 
tionate, but  effusive,  during  her  stay  at  Challons- 
leigh;  and  above  all  during  that  last  short  and 
moving  interview,  when  she  had  supposed  that 
Jeanne  was  about  to  inherit  her  brother's  large 
fortune. 

"  Has  something  occurred  to  make  you  change 
— that  you  wish  it  no  longer?"  asked  this  clear- 
sighted questioner. 

"Nothing — nothing,  so  far  as  Jeanne  herself 
is  concerned,"  said  the  Duchess,  feeling  she 
could  say  no  less.  The  tears  rose  to  her  eyes. 
She  was  not  unfeeling;  and  she  felt  it,  besides, 
very  hard  that  she  should  thus  be  forced,  of  cruel 
necessity,  to  appear  to  be  a  mercenary  woman. 
That  she  was  rather  a  mercenary  woman  made  it 
none  the  less  hard. 

"Madame  de  Courset,"  she  said,  half-ashamed 
to  find  herself  appealing,  apologetically,  to  the 
very  person  whom  she  had  yesterday  continued  to 
denounce  as  an  impostor,  despite  her  son's  as- 
surances that  the  family  lawyer  had  been  aware 
of  the  marriage  of  Louis,  and  the  existence  of 
his  son — "no  one  in  the  world — no  one,  I  can 
assure  you,  that  I  have  ever  seen,  would  suit  me 
better  as  a  daughter  than  little  Jeanne.  She  is 
personally,  and  in  disposition,  all  I  could  possibly 
wish  her  to  be. " 


364  THE  LONELY  LADY 

"  Mais  oui,  elle  est  tres  douce,"  said  Anne-Marie, 
as  though  she  had  already  divined  and  understood 
the  somewhat  arbitrary  character  of  Jeanne's 
prospective  mother-in-law. 

"  But  my  son —  '  said  the  Duchess,  moving 
uneasily  beneath  the  calm  gaze  of  those  clear 
eyes,  "the  Duke,  madame — in  spite  of  his  rank 
—is  a  very  poor  man. " 

"  C'  est  toujours  ainsi, "  said  Anne-Marie, 
sympathetically.  "In  our  class  we  do  not  make 
money — we  spend  it.  What  would  you?  Cela 
se  comprend!" 

The  Duchess  was  petrified.  But  she  knew 
not  how  to  disagree  with  Anne-Marie,  seate'd  calm 
and  reposeful  before  her;  so  loftily  and  unmis- 
takably a  representative  of  the  ancienne  noblesse; 
so  entirely  and  innocently  unaware  that  there 
could  be  any  doubt  of  her  own  complete  equality 
with  the  Duchess  of  Monaghan. 

"M'yes, "  said  the  Duchess,  faintly. 

There  was  a  moment's  pause;  the  elder 
lady  struggling  to  recover  herself,  and  the 
younger  politely  waiting  lest  the  elder  should 
wish  to  speak  first.  Finding  this  not  to  be  the 
case,  the  Marquise  came  to  the  rescue  of  the 
Duchess. 

"Happily,"  she  said,  graciously,  "though  the 
fortune  of  M.  le  Due  is  not  equal  to  his  position, 
noi*  (you  will  permit  me  to  add,  madame)  to  his 
merits,  this  slight  misfortune  need  not,  in  this 


OF  GROSVENOR  SQUARE  365 

particular  case,  present  any  obstacle  to  the  union 
of  our  families,  since  the  dot  of  my  sister  will 
be  so  large— if  it  is  this  consideration  that  is 
troubling  Madame  la  Duchesse — ?" 

"It  is,  it  is,"  cried  the  mother  of  the  Duke, 
almost  weeping.  "I  daresay  you  will  think 
badly  of  me;  one  is  not  supposed  to  care  about 
such  things,  but " 

"  Mais  pas  du  tout ! "  said  Anne-Marie,  surprised. 
"It  is  surely  the  duty  of  a  mother  to  occupy 
herself  of  such  matters!  If  not  she,  then  who? 
In  France,  we  should  think  it  strange  indeed  if 
she  had  neglected  to  inform  herself,  by  every 
enquiry,  of  the  prudence  of  the  marriage  of  her 
son." 

"  I  have  always  said  they  manage  these  things 
better  in  France,"  said  the  Duchess,  wiping  her 
eyes. 

She  was  really  a  pathetic  figure,  as  she  sat  on 
poor  Miss  Marney's  favourite  couch;  her  short 
stout  form  outlined  against  the  delicate  rose- 
coloured  cushions;  her  broad  face  flushed  and 
heated;  her  grey  front  (which  she  had  replaced 
in  a  hurry  on  her  return  to  town)  more  than  a  lit- 
tle awry,  beneath  a  bonnet  so  old  and  so  unfash- 
ionable that  her  maid  would  fain  have  thrown  it 
into  the  dustbin,  but  that  it  happened  to  be  the 
one  her  Grace  usually  asked  for. 

"Alas,  madame, "  said  Anne-Marie,  "it  is  not 
always  easy,  even  in  France,  for  those  of  our 


366  THE  LONELY  LADY 

order  to  marry  where  they  would.  That,  also, 
understands  itself.  But  in  this  case — the  dot 
of  my  sister  renders  it  possible " 

"  But  my  dear — my  dear  Marquise, "  said  the 
Duchess,  abandoning  the  last  shred  of  supposition 
that  this  most  clear-headed,  sensible,  and  sym- 
pathetic of  listeners  could  be  an  impostor.  "  Has 
she  a  dot  f  that  is  the  question.  When  I  asked 
my  son  last  night,  he  could  tell  me  nothing.  He 
knew  what  the  poor — her  poor  brother's  inten- 
tions originally  were,  no  doubt ;  but  he  could  only 
suppose  with  me,  that  the  birth  of  an  heir  would 
have  made"  all  the  difference.  I  am  sure  he  would 
not  have  willingly  trifled  with  my  anxiety," 
said  the  poor  Duchess,  again  growing  rather 
lachrymose,  "  but  I  cannot  say  that  he  expressed 
the  interest  in  a  question  of  such  vital  importance 
to  him,  that  a  young  man  in  his  position  ought 
to  feel." 

"It  is  very  natural,"  said  Anne-Marie,  indul- 
gently. "The  young  leave  these  considerations 
to  their  family.  They  love,  and  they  think  not 
of  such  matters.  But  how  could  my  sister 
go  to  her  husband,  and  a  husband  of  a  posi- 
tion so  great  as  M.  le  Due  de  Monaghan, "  said 
Anne-Marie,  with  her  courteous  inclination. 
"  without  a  dot  ?  That  would  be  impossible  in- 
deed! These  questions  are  for  us,  madame,  to 
discuss. " 

What  a  reasonable,  what  a  superior  creature 


OF  GROSVENOR  SQUARE  367 

was  this!  The  Duchess  felt  almost  inclined  to 
embrace  Anne-Marie. 

"Unless  her  poor  brother  left  a  will, "  she  said, 
hurriedly,  "your  sister-in-law  will,  I  believe, 
get  nothing  at  all  of  the  great  fortune  left  by 
her  aunt.  Surely,  madame,  you  must  be  aware 
of  this?" 

"Alas,  madame,  I  understand  little  of  your 
laws.  It  seems  that  one  child  of  the  same  parents 
can  be  given  all,  and  another  nothing.  Our 
customs  appear  to  me  more  just.  The  children, 
brother  and  sister,  share  alike.  Has  a  woman 
then  less  need  of  money  than  a  man?" 

"More  need,  more  need,"  said  the  Duchess 
hungrily,  "and  especially  when  she  marries  a 
poor  man. " 

"My  husband, "  said  Anne-Marie,  softly,  "did 
make  a  will,  just  after  our  marriage  in  South 
Africa ;  that  his  sister  might  by  the  law  of  Eng- 
land have  her  share  of  all  that  belonged  to 
him,  in  case  of  his  death.  And  her  share  was 
to  be  the  half  of  all.  This  he  told  me,  and  this 
he  wrote  to  my  sister,  and  to  Mr.  Valentine. " 

"But  that  was  before  he  inherited  this  pro- 
perty— before  the  birth  of  his  son— 

Anne-Marie  shook  her  head  wearily,  and  half- 
closed  her  beautiful  hazel  eyes.  She  was  grow- 
ing very  tired  of  her  interview  with  the  Duchess. 

"It  makes  no  difference— none  at  all,"  she 
said  gently.  "That  is  the  will  of  my  husband.' 


368  THE  LONELY  LADY 

The  Duchess  had  a  heart,  though  it  was  a 
small  one ;  and  suddenly,  though  tardily,  it  smote 
her,  as  she  looked  at  the  pathetic  young  face, 
framed  in  the  severe  French  mourning  of  recent 
widowhood.  She  remembered  how  recent,  and 
had  the  grace1  to  be  ashamed  of  her  intrusion, 
and  of  what  now  even  justly  presented  itself  to 
her  as  her  importunity. 

"Forgive  me,"  said  the  Duchess, — her  loud 
voice  softened. 

Anne-Marie  smiled  faintly,  and  made  a  little 
movement  with  one  hand,  as  who  should  say, 
It  is  nothing. 

"Forgive  me;  and  if  I  might  ask  you — say 
nothing  to  my  son  of  my  visit  here.  I  ought 
not,  indeed,  to  have  come  to  disturb  you,  but — 
but — oh,  when  your  son  grows  up,  you  too,  may 
know  what  it  is  to  have  to  stand  by  watching 
him,"  she  wrung  her  hands  in  a  despairing  burst 
of  confidence,  " — watching  them,  in  my  case, — 
do  one  thing  after  another  that  you  would  stop 
if  you  could.  But  no,  you  must  not  interfere, 
for  they  are  men,  and  independent,  though  they 
be  ever  so  wild  or  so  foolish.  " 

"Is  M.  le  Due,  then,  wild  and  foolish?"  said 
Anne-Marie,  in  wonder. 

"No,  no,  no.  I  was  not  thinking  of  Denis. 
My  feelings  carried  me  away, "  cried  the  Duchess. 
"  I  have  other  sons,  less  wise,  but  not  less  dear 
than  he,  poor  fellows.  Oh  no,  no,  Denis  is  all 


OF  GROSVENOR  SQUARE  369 

that  any  one  could  wish.  It  is  for  that  I  am  so 
doubly  anxious  that  he  should  marry  and  settle 
down  and  have  sons  of  his  own;  if  only  there  is 
enough  fortune  to  make  it  possible.  His  conduct 
has  never  given  me  a  moment's  anxiety  in  all 
his  life." 

"That  is  what  I  understood,"  said  Anne-Marie, 
gravely.  "When  I  heard  from  my  sister  of  the 
visits  of  her  cousin,  which  had  afforded  consolation 
to  her  solitude  (a  consolation  that  would  not 
have  been  possible,  madame,  in  our  country, 
to  a  young  girl,  though  attended  by  so  devoted 
a  gouvernante  as  this  good  Dunham;  but  I  am 
aware  that  young  girls  here  are  accorded  a  liberty 
extraordinary) — I,  too,  found  it  my  duty,  as  you 
will  readily  figure  to  yourself,  madame,  to  make 
enquiries.  And  I  had  the  happiness  of  learning 
from  the  respectable  M.  Valentine  that  M.  le  Due 
was  of  a  character  irreproachable;  otherwise,  as 
you  will  perfectly  comprehend,  I  could  not," 
said  Anne-Marie,  with  a  sad  but  charming  smile, 
"have)  accorded  my  sanction  to  his  application 
for  the  hand  of  my  sister. " 

Thus  was  the  Duchess  vanquished  and  routed 
in  her  encounter  with  Anne-Marie;  and  so  com- 
pletely that  it  was  not  until  she  returned  home 
that  she  realised,  being  by  no  means  a  quick- 
witted woman,  that  in  spite  of  the  serene  assurance 
of  the  Marquise,  nothing  could  be  known  for 


24 


370  THE  LONELY  LADY 

certain,  concerning  Jeanne's  fortune,  until  the  will 
of  Louis  had  been  opened. 

But  the  close  of  the  day  fortunately  put  an 
end  to  her  doubts ;  when  her  son — who  had  every 
desire  to  relieve  his  mother's  anxiety  as  soon  as 
possible,  and  who  was,  to  say  the  least,  and  in 
spite  of  his  love,  as  much  interested  in  the  matter 
as  she  was — informed  her  that  Louis  had  made  no 
fresh  will  upon  succeeding  to  his  property,  since 
the  one  drawn  up  and  signed  immediately  after 
his  marriage  would,  as  he  had  instructed  Mr. 
Valentine,  answer  every  necessary  purpose. 

This  divided  all  his  property,  without  reference 
to  the  amount,  in  equal  shares  between  his  wife 
and  sister,  in  accordance  with  his  letter  to  Jeanne ; 
and  appointed  her  sole  executrix. 

The  situation  was  perfectly  clear,  and  afforded 
no  difficulties  beyond  the  exact  division  of  the 
estate;  and  over  this,  as  the  Duke  remarked  to 
his  mother,  Anne-Marie  and  Jeanne  were  very 
little  likely  to  dispute. 

"  No,  indeed,  Jeanne  is  far  too  amiable ;  and  the 
Marquise  is  an  admirable  person,' '  said  the  Duch- 
ess ;  forgetting,  in  her  joy,  that  she  had  implored 
Anne-Marie  not  to  mention  her  visit  to  the  Duke. 

" Have  you  seen  her?"  he  asked  in  amaze. 

"I — I  called  upon  her  this  morning,  Denis," 
said  his  mother,  faltering. 

So  they  perceived  that  Madame  la  Marquise 
could  keep  a  secret. 


OF  GROSVENOR  SQUARE  37x 

Jeanne  had  intended  to  break  the  news  of  his 
ne'phew's  marriage  to  Uncle  Roberts,  by  word  of 
mouth,  in  accordance  with  the  intention  Louis 
himself  had  expressed;  but  Anne- Marie,  in  calm 
consultation  with  the  respectable  M.  Valentine, 
decided  otherwise. 

"To  write  it  is  better,"  she  said.  "Let  there 
be,  on  this  occasion,  no  more  surprises,  no  more 
coups  de  theatre. " 

"  But  it  is  so  difficult  to  know  what  to  write. 
He  does  not  like  letters,  particularly  long  letters; 
and  it  would  need  a  very  long  letter  to  explain 
it  all,"  said  Jeanne.  "And  one  never  knows 
how  Uncle  Roberts  will  take  things." 

"Then  it  is  as  well  that  you  should  not  be 
there,"  said  Anne-Marie,  sensibly.  "A  man 
in  these  circumstances  needs  time  to  reflect  how 
he  will  act.  Time  also  perhaps  to  overcome 
the  first  burst  of  his  surprise,  it  may  be  his  anger 
— in  fine,  his  emotions,  and  to  compose  himself. 
It  is  ce  ban  M.  Valentine  who  will  write  of  what 
he  learnt  from  my  husband.  He  will  doubtless 
send  a  copy  of  his  letter  of  announcement,  or 
of  such  papers  as  may  be  necessary.  It  goes 
without  saying  that  it  is  ces  messieurs  who  will 
concern  themselves  of  business.  But  for  you, 
you  will  write  of  your  engagement,  and  of  your 
filial  sentiment;  and  for  me,  I  have  but  to  ask 
that  I  may  be  permitted  to  make  a  pilgrim- 
age' to  the  home  of  my  husband's  infancy; 


372  THE  LONELY  LADY 

and  to  demand  the  blessing  of  his  uncle  for  my 
son." 

The  letters  were  written  and  despatched  in 
strict  accordance  with  these  directions ;  and,  what- 
ever Uncle  Roberts's  emotions  may  have  been 
on  the  receipt  of  the  intelligence  they  conveyed, 
he  certainly  took  time  to  reflect  and  compose 
himself  before  he  decided  upon  the  proper  course 
of  action  to  take  in  the  matter;  for  ten  days 
elapsed  before  his  anxiously  awaiting  niece  re- 
ceived an  answer  to  her  letter ;  and  to  theirs,  the 
lawyer  and  Anne-Marie  re'ceived  no  answers  at  all. 

" Dear  Niece,"  wrote  Uncle  Roberts  in  his 
usual  laconic  style.  "  Your's  to  hand.  I  hope 
you  may  be  happy  in  your  choice,  and  that  your 
Future  Husband  is  a  godly  man.  You  will  be 
set  in  High  Places,  take  heed  lest  you  fall. 

"  To  hear  of  the  poor  Lad's  marriage  was  a  Sur- 
prize to  Sally  Morgan  and  myself.  If  it  had  pleased 
God  to  spare  him,  he  would  have  told  me  all  Him- 
self on  his  coming  Home,  this  was  not  to  be.  I 
should  take  it  kind  of  the  french  Lady  he  has 
married  to  bring  his  son  to  see  me.  Sally  Morgan 
bids  me  say  the  Spare  Room  is  now  ready,  likewise 
his  that  was,  and  your  own. 

"  May  God's  Blessing  rest  on  you  is  the  prayer 
of  your  affectionate  uncle  and  well-wisher, 

LLEWELLYN  ROBERTS." 

"Oh,  Anne-Marie,  do  you  see?     He  did  not 


OP  GROSVENOR  SQUARE          373 

write  earlier,  only  because  he  waited  till  the 
spare  room  should  be  ready.  How  like  Uncle 
Roberts. " 

"  It  is  the  letter  of  a  noble,  a  pious,  and  a  gen- 
erous man, "  said  Anne-Marie,  reading  between 
the  lines  of  the  homely  yet  dignified  epistle. 
"He  makes  us  no  reproaches.  He  speaks  not 
of  his  own  feelings.  I  will  teach  my  son  to  honour 
him,  and  we  will  make  the  journey  together 
before  we  return  to  France. " 

For  Anne-Marie  withstood  firmly  though  gently 
all  the  entreaties  of  Jeanne,  all  the  arguments  of 
Mr.  Valentine,  and  all  the  invitations  of  the 
Duchess. 

She  would  not  prolong  her  stay  in  England, 
she  said,  by  a  day,  after  the  marriage  of  her 
sister  should  be  accomplished.  She  would  return 
to  her  home. 

"My  son  is  French,"  she  said,  "by  birth, 
by  parentage,  by  descent.  Also  he  shall  be 
French  by  education,  by  sentiment,  and  by 
association.  This  would  not  be  possible  were 
he  to  be  brought  up  out  of  his  own  country: 
which  would  also,  to  me,  be  exile,"  she  added, 
with  frankness. 

The  Duke  declared  himself  on  her  side,  and 
Jeanne1  was  persuaded  to  see  the  justice  of  her 
arguments  from  Anne-Marie's  point  of  view; 
but  not  all  her  reverence  for  the  family  traditions 
reconciled  her  to  the  proposal  that  her  nephew 


374  THE  LONELY  LADY 

should  grow  up  a  stranger  to  the  country  in  which 
his  fathers  had  been  born,  and  for  which  they 
had  died,  for  three  successive  generations. 

It  was  Anne-Marie  who  decided  that  the 
Marney  collection  must  not  be  divided,  but 
should  belong  to  Jeanne's  share  of  the  property. 
The  Duke  rejoiced  at  the  prospect  of  being  enabled 
to  examine  the  Dutch  pictures  in  detail,  and 
discover  as  many  fresh  beauties  in  them  as  he 
chose,  for  the  rest  of  his  natural  life. 

The  house  in  Grosvenor  Square  was  also  to  be 
Jeanne's;  and  as  a  set-off,  the  large  and  valuable 
Orsett  estates  were  to  be  sold  for  the  benefit  of 
Anne-Marie  and  her  son. 

"For  me — I  will  buy  the  Chateau  de  Courset," 
said  the  Marquise.  "It  is  there  my  son  shall 
spend  his  childhood. " 

"Is  it  for  sale?"  cried  Jeanne,  turning  pale 
with  excitement  and  awe,  for  the  restoration  of 
the  chateau  had  been  among  the  fondest  and 
most  unlikely  dreams  of  her  childhood. 

"How  very  fortunate  it  should  be  for  sale," 
said  the  Duke  and  Mr.  Valentine  in  a  breath. 

"  Mais  non, "  said  Anne-Marie,  calmly,  "  it  is  not 
for  sale.  It  belongs  to  a  bon  petit  bourgeois  gentil- 
homme.  He  is  a  brave  boy,  and  above  all  a  very 
prudent  one.  He  is  also  of  my  acquaintance. 
When  I  offer  him  more  money  than  it  is  worth, 
he  will  certainly  not  refuse  me. " 

"No,  madame,  I  do  not  think  he  will  refuse 


OF  GROSVENOR  SQUARE  375 

you,"  said  Mr.  Valentine,  and  he  looked  at  the 
Duke,  whose  blue  eyes  twinkled  responsively. 

He  too  thought  it  probable  that  Anne-Marie 
would  get  her  way. 

The  event  subsequently  justified  his  conviction ; 
for  the  brave  bourgeois  retired  with  all  possible 
speed  from  the  Chateau  d£  Courset,  to  make  room 
for  the  Marquise  and  her  son;  overwhelmed  by 
the  magnitude  of  the  sum  offered  him  for  this 
concession. 


CHAPTER  XXIII 
THE  LONELY  LADY  LONELY  NO  MORE 

AWAY  from  London;  from  the  heat  and  crowd 
of  the  season ;  the  rolling  of  carriages  and  mo- 
tors and  electric  broughams ;  the  clatter  of  han- 
soms and  rattling  of  omnibuses  in  noisy  streets; 
from  an  atmosphere  vitiated  by  myriads  of  chim- 
neys, and  choked  with  the  dust  of  the  wood- 
pavements — to  the  silence  of  the  mountains; 
to  the  pure  fresh  air  of  the  green  valleys  after 
the  rain ;  to  the  May  meeting  of  spring  and  summer 
on  the  flowering  hillsides. 

At  Coed-Ithel,  the  old  stone-tiled,  ivy-clasped 
house  was  no  longer  bared  to  the  view  of  every 
passer-by,  through  the  gnarled  and  naked  boughs 
of  winter;  but  was  embowered  and  hidden  in 
blossoming  orchards  holding  aloft  their  burden 
of  rosy  bud  and  white  bloom  against  a  cloud- 
less turquoise  sky. 

The  dark  yew  guarding  the  rustic  gate  stood 
among  the  snowy  loveliness  of  the  pear-trees, 
like  a  death's  head  at  a  bridal  feast. 

Golden  lights  fell  through  the  green  leaves 
376 


THE  LONELY  LADY  377 

of  the  oaks  upon  the  grass,  now  yellow  with 
buttercups ;  upon  patches  of  wild  blue  hyacinths, 
upon  violets  smothered  in  growth,  and  moss- 
grown  stones  hiding  the  trickle  of  the  mountain 
stream, — a  torrent  no  longer. 

Jeanne  felt  that  Coed-Ithel  needed  no  apology 
— no  explanation  from  her,  upon  such  a  May-day 
as  this. 

Uncle  Roberts,  alas,  had  discarded  his  working- 
clothes  for  his  Sunday  suit;  his  rust-coloured 
hair  and  whiskers  bore  traces  of  a  recent  and 
liberal  application  of  Maccassar  oil;  but  French- 
women, though  not  less  delicate,  are  certainly 
less  squeamish  than  their  English  sisters  and 
if  Anne-Marie  observed  the  strong  scent  of  the 
Maccassar  (which  indeed  she  could  hardly  have 
failed  to  do,  since  she  embraced  her  astounded 
relative  on  both  cheeks  before  he  had  time  to 
resist),  she  accepted  it  as  an  evidence  of  Uncle 
Roberts's  desire  to  do  her  honour,  and  was  touched 
accordingly. 

The  embarrassment  of  the  occasion  was  inten- 
sified by  their  reception  in  the  small  and  musty 
parlour,  which  was  ill-adapted  for  the  accom- 
modation of  so  large  a  party;  whereas  the  farm 
kitchen  was  large  and  lofty,  and  would  have 
possessed  the  additional  advantage  of  putting 
the  farmer  at  his  ease  among  more  familiar 
surroundings. 

As  it  was,  Uncle  Roberts  felt  almost  like  a 


378  THE  LONELY  LADY 

visitor  nimself,  as  he  balanced 'his  heavy  person 
carefully  on  the  edge  of  a  horsehair  chair,  wiped 
his  brow  with  his  red  handkerchief  and  told  the 
Duke  that  the  weather  was  uncommonly  warm 
for  the  time  of  year. 

Happily  petit  Jean  came  to  the  rescue  with 
loud,  plaintive,  and  reiterated  demands  for  milk, 
and  his  frank  requests  being  translated  to  the 
farmer,  Uncle  Roberts  jumped  up  in  great  relief 
and  invited  his  grandnephew  into  the  dairy; 
forgetting  his  previous  arrangement  that  Granny 
Morgan  and  her  handmaid  should  bring  a  tray 
of  refreshments  into  the  parlour,  where  a  space 
had  been  cleared  for  it  among  the  shells  and 
albums  and  fancy  mats  upon  the  centre-table. 

Poor  Granny  Morgan,  who  had  been  waiting 
only  for  the  first  ardour  of  greetings  to  subside, 
before  making  her  appearance  according  to 
contract,  was  dismayed  to  see  the  whole  party 
pouring  thankfully  out  of  the  parlour;  but  she 
forgot  her  disappointment  in  the  excitement  of 
beholding  petit  Jean,  and  the  embarrassment  of 
being  embraced  by  Anne-Marie. 

"To  think  of  yon  being  the  wife  of  our  Louis, " 
she  said  afterwards  to  Jeanne.  "Foreigner  or 
no  foreigner,  no  Englishwoman  could  have  wore 
a  better  crape  dress  for  the  poor  boy ;  nor  I  never 
saw  none  half  so  deep;  and  to  hear  her  speak 
English  just  like  any  other  Christian,  fair  amazed 
me.  And  the  way  she  took  her  food !  '  Farmer, ' 


OF  GROSVENOR  SQUARE  379 

I  said  to  your  uncle,  when  he  told  me  her  was  a- 
coming,  '  'T  is  no  manner  of  use  for  you  to  ask  me 
to  cook  snails  for  her,  nor  yet  frogs,'  I  says, 
'for  I  won't  ado  it,'  and  he  give  me  a  scornful 
look,  as  much  as  to  say,  '  You  're  showing  your 
ignorance,  woman.'  You  know  his  way  if  a  body 
so  much  as  opens  her  mouth  to  cross  him. " 

The  visitors  would  have  been  hard  to  please 
had  they  desired  better  fare  than  Granny  Morgan 
spread  before  them;  of  home-brewed  cider  and 
perry;  of  tender  spring  chickens,  early  peas  and 
gooseberries,  and  rich  wrinkled  yellow  cream. 

The  praise  of  Anne-Marie  won  the  old  woman's 
heart. 

"She  took  her  vittles  with  the  best  of  us, 
though  I  doubt  she  's  been  used  to  the  grandest 
of  cooking.  To  think  our  lad  should  have  had 
the  face — but  he  was  one  to  dare  anything, 
and  I  '11  warrant  he  did  n't  ask  her  twice  for  all 
she  looks  like  a  queen.  He  had  the  way  with 
him.  But  you  mark  my  words,  deary,  her 
heart  's  broke ;  and  I  seed  her  look  at  the  little 
boy  so  sorrowful  that  I  fair  went  to  the  back 
kitchen  and  burst  out  crying,  for  it  minded  me 
of  the  poor  lad." 

"Yes,  petit  Jean  is  very  like  Louis,"  said 
Jeanne,  sadly.  She  waited  for  a  moment,  and 
then  said,  faltering,  "You  haven't  said  a  word 
about — about  him,  Granny?" 

"Haven't    I,  deary?"    said   Granny  Morgan, 


3»o  THE  LONELY  LADY 

with  well-feigned  surprise.  "  Well  then,  no  more  I 
have  n't,  so  I  declare!  I  Ve  been  and  forgot  to 
wish  you  happy,  my  deary,  so  here  I  does  it  with 
all  my  heart, "  and  she  kissed  Jeanne  emphatically. 

"But  what  do  you  think  of  him?  Oh,  do 
say  you  like  him,  Granny;  for  you  don't  know 
how  good  he  's  been  to  me. " 

"I  should  n't  wonder  if  he  was  good  to  you, 
my  deary ;  for  I  'm  not  one  to  judge  by  appear- 
ances,"  said  Granny  Morgan,  soothingly,  "and 
't  is  n't  always  the  finest  fellars  as  makes  the  best 
husbands. " 

"But  indeed — indeed,  he  is  a  fine  fellow " 

"  They  says  Love  is  blind, "  said  Granny  Morgan, 
lifting  her  hands  admiringly,  "and  so  I  'm  sure 
he  'd  need  to  be  sometimes.  When  I  heard  you 
was  to  marry  a  grand  lord,  says  I,  here  's  a  to-do, 
and  however  did  he  come  for  to  pick  up  with 
our  Jenny!  says  I,  mazed-like.  But  now  I  Ve 
seed  him,  deary,  why  't  is  all  to  be  understood; 
for  he  's  but  a  slip  of  a  boy,  and  a  lame  one  at 
that,  who  would  be  looking  for  a  straight,  comely 
maid  to  tend  him  like;  but  you  shewed  your 
sense,  my  deary,  in  taking  him,  for  half  a  loaf  he 
better  than  no  bread ;  and  now  you  '11  be  a  lady, 
which  all  the  money  in  the  world  would  n't  have 
made  ye,  if  a  gentleman  had  n't  come  along  to 
make  you  one.  But  to  think  of  him  alongside 
of  our  Louis,  oh  deary  me,"  and  she  wept  into 
her  apron. 


OF  GROSVENOR  SQUARE  381 

Jeanne  cried  for  company;  but  she  blushed 
too,  as  she  recognised  in  Granny  Morgan's  crude 
reflections  the  echo  of  her  own  past  impressions 
of  Denis.  She  too  had  once  seen  that  he  was 
little,  and  lame,  and  delicate — and  had  seen 
nothing  else. 

The  succks  of  Anne-Marie,  glad  as  she  was  to 
note  it,  was  counterbalanced  in  poor  Jeanne's 
eyes  by  the  obvious  failure  of  her  childhood's 
friends  to  recognise  any  remarkable  qualities  in 
her  betrothed  husband. 

The  exaltedness  of  his  rank  did  not  impress 
them,  because  to  the  inhabitants  of  Coed-Ithel 
a  duke  was  a  lord,  like  any  other  lord,  and  one 
title  just  as  good  or  of  as  little  account  as  another, 
according  to  your  principles. 

Uncle  Roberts  objected  to  all  titles,  in  what  he 
chose  to  call  "the  abstrack";  but  to  show  he  was 
not  proud,  and  that  he  knew  his  manners,  and 
had  no  ill-feeling  towards  his  niece's  future  hus- 
band, he  called  Denis  "my  lord"  once  or  twice,  in 
the  course  of  conversation,  or  whenever  he  re- 
membered to  do  so.  Most  of  his  remarks  were 
naturally  addressed  to  the  Duke,  because  Uncle 
Roberts  never,  if  he  could  help  it,  talked  to  per- 
sons of  the  inferior  sex  when  a  man  was  pres- 
ent ;  and  the  force  of  habit  was  too  strong  to  be 
overcome. 

But  though  he  talked  to  Denis,  he  looked  at 
Anne-Marie  and  at  the  little  boy  beside  her;  and 


382  THE  LONELY  LADY 

his  face  betrayed  a  sad  wonder,  and  almost  awe, 
as  he  watched  them  both. 

After  supper,  and  when  petit  Jean  had  been 
borne  away  upstairs  by  his  nurse,  Uncle  Roberts 
seated  himself  in  the  porch,  with  his  pipe,  and 
smoked  and  enjoyed  the  mildness  of  the  May 
evening  as  his  custom  was;  and  it  was  then  that 
Anne-Marie,  in  her  long  black  draperies,  came 
to  bear  him  company,  and  talked  to  him  in  her 
pretty  broken  English,  as  she  sat  beside  him. 

Jeanne,  beholding  her  uncle  absorbed  in  lis- 
tening to  those  low,  clear  tones,  stole  through  a 
side-door,  with  her  lover.  They  wandered  through 
the  blossoming  orchards  and  climbed  together  the 
rising  grass  slopes  behind  the  farm,  and  watched 
the  moon  rise  over  the  edge  of  the  fir-crowned 
hill,  whilst  yet  the  afterglow  of  the  sunset  had 
scarcely  died  from  the  clear,  pale,  evening  sky. 

Her  heart  was  too  full  for  much  speech;  and 
Denis,  divining  the  sadness  of  her  thoughts,  was 
silent  too ;  yet  knowing  that  his  presence  and  his 
sympathy  comforted  her  without  words. 

She  led  him  presently  to  a  seat  beside  a  clump 
of  oaks,  near  the  fallen  walls  of  a  stone  cot,  which 
had  stood  upon  the  mountain  before  the  oaks 
were  planted,  and  when  the  grim  giant  yew  now 
overshadowing  the'  ruin  was  still  young ;  and  they 
rested,  and  listened  to  the  ceaseless  song  of 
the  mountain  brook,  and  the  sleepy  twittering 
of  the  birds,  disturbed  by  the  rising  of  the  moon. 


OF  GROSVENOR  SQUARE  383 

we  used  to  play,"  she  whispered,  "and 
here  Louis  used  to  tell  me  all  he  meant  to  do 
when  he  was  grown  up— and  now— what  is  left 
of  it  all?" 

"A  memory  that  will  never  die  in  the  hearts 
that  love  him, — his  share  in  the  example  and 
inspiration  that  heroes  leave  to  weaker  men — " 

There  was  a  silence,  and  Denis  added,  gently, 
"  His  son  will  carry  on  the  traditions  of  his  house. " 

"  Yes,  there  is  petit  Jean, "  said  Jeanne  wistfully. 
"I  thank  God  for  petit  Jean.  But  oh,  Denis—" 
she  crept  closer  to  him,  "he  will  not  be  mine  as 
Louis  was.  He  belongs  to  his  mother,  and  she 
to  him,  and  both  to  Louis.  I  feel  it  more  and 
more  each  day.  I  have  thought  sometimes 
lately  that — that  even  if  he  had  come  back  it 
might  have  been  like  that.  There  would  have 
been  very  very  little  place  for  me.  They  would 
have  filled  each  other's  lives ' 

The  Duke  had,  perhaps,  already  thought  of 
this,  and  wondered  if  the  little  sister  had  been 
spared,  in  her  sorrow,  many  a  disillusion  almost 
harder  yet  to  bear  than  grief  itself;  but  he  was 
loyally  silent  concerning  these  reflections. 

"You  and  I,  too,  will  fill  each  other's  lives. 
It  is  Nature,"  he  whispered. 

He  took  her  into  his  arms,  and  she  clung  to 
him,  and  was  consoled,  a  little  consoled  in  the 
midst  of  her  tears;  which  were  no  longer  bitter, 
but  only  sad  and  tender. 


384  THE  LONELY  LADY 

Her  utter  dependence  was  very  sweet  to  him, 
and  he  understood  this  childish  human  sorrow 
better  than  he  understood  the  strange  unearthly 
resignation  of  Anne-Marie, — to  whom,  for  her 
part,  these  young  lovers  seemed  but  children, 
playing  at  love. 

When  they  returned  to  the  house,  that  the 
Duke  might  take  leave  of  his  host,  and  enter 
the  fly  which  was  waiting  to  conduct  him  to  the 
little  hostel  down  in  the  valley,  they  found 
that  Anne-Marie  had  already  retired,  and  that 
Uncle  Roberts  was  awaiting  them  alone,  shaking 
the  ashes  of  his  pipe  into  the  kitchen  fireplace. 

His  nature  was  not  formed  for  excess  either 
of  melancholy,  or  of  mirth;  but  it  was  easily  to 
be  discerned  that  something  had  pleased  him, 
and  he  took  them  immediately  into  his  con- 
fidence in  the  matter. 

"  Jenny, "  said  Uncle  Roberts,  "  d'ye  know  what 
I  've  been  thinking?" 

"No,  Uncle." 

"  Why — that  I  shan't  have  to  go  over  to  Tref- 
goch,  and  pay  another  thirty  shillings  to  old 
Lawyer  Williams  for  making  a  fresh  will,  after  all ; 
as  I  '11  be  bound  he  do  expect.  For  I  left  my 
farm  and  all  my  worldly  goods  as  I  do  possess 
to  Louis  de  Courset,  d'  ye  see;  and  under  that 
will,  as  sure  as  I  'm  alive,  the  Louis  de  Courset 
as  is  sleeping  up-stairs  will  get  the  lot.  " 


OF  GROSVENOR  SQUARE  385 

Jeanne's  tap  at  the  door  of  the  spare  room 
was  so  gentle  that  it  passed  unheard;  and,  very 
softly,  she  ope'ned  the  door. 

Petit  Jean  lay  asleep  on  the  narrow  bedstead 
in  the  corner;  and  by  the  centre-table,  with  her 
back  to  the  opening  door,  all  unconscious  of  in- 
trusion, Anne-Marie  knelt  before  a  crucifix. 

There,  also,  was  all  that  remained  to  her  of 
Louis — a  little  row  of  medals,  and  the  Cross 
of  his  Order;  but  he  would  have  prized  them 
beyond  everything  in  the  world,  and  she  hated 
and  treasured  them. 

What  was  left? 

A  photograph,  a  wedding  ring,  and  a  packet  of 
letters. 

Her  black  hair  fell  like  a  mourning  veil  over 
her  white  draperies;  her  face  was  hidden  upon 
her  out-stretched  arms;  her  hands  were  clasped 
in  a  silent  agony  of  supplication. 

Awed  and  trembling,  Jeanne  closed  the  door 
without  a  sound,  upon  that  holy  place  of  love 
and  sorrow.  She  dared  not  enter,  nor  make 
her  presence  known.  It  was,  to  her,  as  though 
the  soul  of  Louis  were  keeping  guard  over  his 
wife's  secret  anguish;  as  though  she,  too,  had 
"watched  an  angel  pray." 

Jeanne  and  Denis  were  married  in  London, 
later  in  the  summer,  and  they  kept  the  date, 
place,  and  hour  of  their  wedding  a  secret  from 

95 


386  THE  LONELY  LADY 

i 

all  save  their  nearest  relatives,  that  it  might   be 
as  quiet  and  private  as  possible. 

Yet,  when  the  time  for  the  ceremony  arrived, 
there  sat  Cecilia,  in  a  front  pew,  with  her  eyes 
starting  out  of  her  he'ad. 

During  the  honeymoon,  Jeanne  had  the  happi- 
ness of  beholding  at  last  the  home"  of  her  ancestors, 
though  she  was  disappointed  to  find  it  no  fine 
palace;  but  a  plain,  three-storied,  green-shuttered 
mansion,  with  slated  roof,  and  a  tall  poplar  set 
at  each  corner;  standing  among  the  coppices, 
streams,  and  pollards  of  the  flat,  uninteresting 
country  of  the  Boulonnais. 

She  has,  however,  the  consolation  of  living 
in  as  romantic  and  turreted  a  castle  as  Ireland 
can  boast ;  in  a  country  not  less  wildly  picturesque, 
nor  less  well-timbered  and  well- watered,  than 
her  native  Wales. 

The  Marney  Collection  is  displayed  to  advan- 
tage in  wide  and  lofty  galleries,  where  space  and 
light  abound,  and  where  the  owners  need  fear 
no  deterioration  from  London  smoke  or  fog. 

The  Marney  thousands  have  restored  Cuilmore, 
and  brought  peace  and  plenty  to  many  humble 
homes.  The  old  servants  have  been  pensioned 
off  and  dispersed;  only  Dunham  and  Mrs.  Pyke 
live  with  Jeanne,  in  a  corner  of  the  great  castle, 
with  a  maid  to  wait  upon  them  in  their  old  age; 
in  the  evening  they  play  double-dummy  together, 
and  think,  doubtless,  of  their  old  mistress;  and 


OF  GROSVENOR  SQUARE          387 

wear  out  such  portions  of  her  wardrobe  as  Dun- 
ham does  not  still  feel  it  her  duty  to  hoard  in 
cupboards,  with  little  bags  of  camphor  among 
the  folds. 

The  Romney  portrait  looks  down  upon  poor 
Miss  Caroline's  ancient  harp;  and  upon  her  gilt 
furniture,  and  upon  the  Book  of  Beauty,  still 
kept  faithfully  upon  the  occasional  table  next 
the  sofa,  by  the  orderly  little  Duchess;  but  the 
miniatures  of  the  young  Marquis,  page  to  Madame 
Royale,  of  the  Chevalier  Charles,  and  the  Cha- 
noinesse  Anne-Marie, — have  gone  back  to  the 
Chateau  de  Courset ;  they  are  the  property  of  Jean- 
Louis. 

And  the  windows  of  the  new  morning-room 
look  out  upon  a  wide,  green  park,  and  a  rolling 
river,  and  distant  blue  hills,  instead  of  into  a 
London  street. 

For  the  house  in  Grosvenor  Square  is  dis- 
mantled, and  the  rooms  are  empty.  The  police- 
man, passing  on  his  beat,  sees  no  more  a  lonely 
lady  gazing  from  the  window ;  but  instead,  a  board, 
with  the  inscription,  To  be  Let  or  Sold. 


THE  END 


A    000  131  181     o 


